


Curtain's Fall: Opening Night

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [9]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Character Death, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Other, Post-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cast is assembled, the lines learnt. The curtain rises...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published in regular instalments between May 2003 - March 2005. The story began some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Curtain's Fall is the fifth and final volume of the epic saga, and it's so long we split it into five unequal sections. This is part three, Opening Night.

As Giles slipped between the cool sheets of their bed, he found himself doubting that sleep would be possible tonight with all that awaited them in the morning. Ethan was clearly thinking along similar lines; he rolled over and played a hand over Giles' chest, saying, "I feel like we should have taken a stack of worthy periodicals and snack food into bed with us."

Giles smiled faintly, covering Ethan's hand with his own. "I think, if it comes to that, we can find some way of distracting ourselves."

Ethan was quiet a few moments, staring at their hands, and then asked, "Do you think she'll change her mind in the morning? If I were her, I'd be three counties away by now."

"She won't run," Giles said quietly. He had seen the fear in Dawn's eyes, but he'd also seen the determination there as well.

More silence, then, "I can't really grasp it, you know."

"Knowing you have to sacrifice yourself to save the world and willingly going forward regardless? I can." Giles remembered Buffy's face back when he'd told her about the prophecy of the Master killing the Slayer, and he remembered her face when she had determined to go through with it. He remembered the expression she'd worn when he'd found her broken and dead at the bottom of Glory's tower. And he remembered what he'd felt when he'd teleported himself to Sunnydale to face Willow, knowing their only chance was to let her drain his magic and life force.

"I've been there," he finished quietly.

"Yes, well," Ethan replied with a wry laugh. "You're all cut from the same Homeric cloth. Me? I'm more like organza or a flimsy gauze." He laughed again.

"You're not as different as you would like to believe," Giles told him, tracing Ethan's features lazily with a finger. "You just never had to face that kind of horrible choice. I pray you never will."

"For the world's sake, I hope you're right. Do you want me to make sure she sleeps? Tonight, I mean. I could reach out, twist a few things..."

"No," Giles said quickly. "We can't steal this time from her. Let her spend it how she wants."

Ethan nodded, clearly agreeing. "You should let me twist us, however. If we're truly going straight from the ritual to a confrontation in London tomorrow, then we'll need all our energy."

There was logic in that, but... "I'd only dream," Giles said, feeling the certainty of that. He smiled mirthlessly. "Which would be less restful than just not sleeping."

Ethan frowned. "Will you at least let me reduce stress chemicals in you for the night? So you can meditate." Giles nodded his agreement; letting Ethan twist his pattern would help Ethan as much as himself, and not just because of their bond. "Thank you," Ethan murmured, kissing Giles' shoulder.

Giles felt Ethan's magic trickling through him for a few minutes, but he didn't feel all that different as a result of it. It was a subtle tweaking, obviously. "You've always had such a deft touch with your magic," he murmured, picking up Ethan's hand and entwining their fingers.

Ethan smiled at the praise. "I was very good too," he said, clearly wanting more of it. "I could have twisted other things."

Giles chuckled, bringing Ethan's hand to his mouth to drop a kiss on it. "Very good indeed," he agreed.

"How did your meeting go? Everybody up for a big fight? Well, a potential one anyway."

"Yes. I think everyone is relieved to actually be doing something, even if the first step means..." He trailed off, not wanting to speak of Dawn's fate any more that night. "They'll be ready to go tomorrow when we are." Ethan shifted uneasily, quietly huffing. "What is it?" Giles asked gently, even though he had a pretty good idea.

Ethan kept his gaze dropped and shifted against Giles. "Do they... Am I persona non grata now? With the girls?"

"Of course not." Giles pulled Ethan tighter against him.

"How can you know? How will they–?"

Giles silenced Ethan with a gentle kiss. "They understand that sometimes we have no choice. They're Slayers; how can they not?" Ethan mumbled something against Giles' lips. He thought he caught the word 'Buffy'. Closing his eyes, Giles sighed and pulled back. "If Buffy is going to hate anyone over this, it's going to be me."

He felt Ethan staring at him, felt his concern like something thick and sticky, coating him. "She won't," Ethan said eventually. "I promised, didn't I?"

Ethan had promised, and that helped Giles hang onto stubborn hope. They would find a way of bringing Dawn back to her human form, but still, Giles knew that Dawn was Buffy's one blind spot, much as Buffy had become the same for Giles. Much the same as Ethan was for him now. They were one thing that could not be sacrificed, no matter the situation, but he couldn't say that so he just kissed Ethan some more.

He felt Ethan's magic tingle inside him again, and this time he was more aware of his body relaxing as if from a shot of whisky. "Ian and I are as ready as we can be," Ethan said, apparently unable to leave the subject alone. "It will be quick."

"I know," Giles acknowledged. He ran his hands lightly over Ethan's skin. "I'm sorry you have to do this."

"Rather me than you." Ethan snorted quietly. "At least we know what we're doing with that part of tomorrow. The rest is anyone's guess."

"We'll manage somehow." It was Giles' turn to snort softly. "After all, that's what we're destined to do."

***

Well, it was morning. Barely light in fact, and once all this was over, Ethan intended a week or two in which he never got up before midday.

He stood in the room he and Ian had chosen for playing Judas within and looked at their scanty preparations. He looked at the Bachian crystal in its glass frame on the table at the side, and at their wide circle, drawn on the floorboards in a powder hand-ground from nacre, peppercorns, rock salt and moth-wings. He looked at the robe of unbleached silk they had found for Dawn, to preserve her modesty without interfering in the complex process. Ethan looked at all these things and felt, finally, like an evil man.

He never had before.

"Sometimes the fates are cruel," Ian said, from where he stood across the circle.

"Sometimes?" Ethan lifted an eyebrow. "The fates are psychotic sadists, dear crow."

"Not all the time." Ian gave him an odd smile. "The fates brought Derek to me, and they brought you and Rupert together. They made it so our patterns touched, however briefly in the overall scheme of things."

"Yes," Ethan said, looking down. "They gave you Derek just long enough for you to know what you'd lost when he'd gone." He winced. "Sorry. Ah... sorry."

But Ian just continued to smile that odd little smile at him as he walked around the outside of the circle to stand beside Ethan. "So... if you knew you'd lose Rupert tomorrow, and you had the chance of going back in time and never meeting him in the first place, are you telling me you'd take it?"

Ethan smiled, albeit crookedly. "Of course not. I've always taken whatever scrapings of Rupert I could get."

"So you will understand when I say that even if I'd only had Derek for a day, I wouldn't change a thing. I wish we'd had more time, of course, but what we did have was more than most people ever know, and I've never let myself forget that."

"Point taken." Ethan patted Ian on the back gently before changing the subject. "I know we don't really need them, but I brought some standard ritual items. I'm not far enough away from my old style of magic yet not to crave them when things are this serious. Care to help me light candles?"

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of ritual," Ian said, clapping a hand to Ethan's shoulder. "Sets the stage and can help elicit the proper atmosphere."

Trust Ian to understand. Ethan smiled at him and tried very hard to stop himself thinking about all the infamous human sacrifice stories he could remember, from the biblical to the demonic. Or rather, about those doing the sacrificing as he was about to join that elite little club of butchers. Sometimes he felt he was rather too well read.

Moving over to where he'd put the box, he handed a pair of fat beeswax candles to Ian. "I haven't used this stuff since my very last Chaos ritual, just before I came to Devon. Rupert's cleansed them though, so don't worry." He looked down into his box and couldn't help a cynical smirk. "That was the first time I took Rupert."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Just what kind of ritual were you doing?"

"Just the Ritual of Abreaction," Ethan said, pulling out his old Tibetan censer from the box. "But things got a little... carried away. Well, I say 'things', but I mean..."

"Things," Ian said, nodding knowingly while crouching by the wall to light one of the candles. "And this was back before Rupert got his magic under his control, wasn't it?"

Ethan nodded, smiling sheepishly down at his mentor. "Control was the thing in short supply that night. I woke up the next morning somewhat certain I was a rapist. Rupert thought otherwise." His smile dropped. "But I'm still not that sure." Once it would have been impossible to discuss that night so easily, even with Ian, but with what lay before them it felt almost like happy avoidance to do so now.

"I think," Ian said slowly, "that in that sort of situation, the final definition of what it was is left up to the person who's being taken." Both candles lit, he returned to Ethan's side.

"My wise mentor," Ethan teased gently.

Ian chuckled, throwing an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "I only tell you things you know yourself deep down. It's just easier sometimes to hear them when they're in someone else's voice."

Ian seemed to be feeling effusive today. It was probably, Ethan thought, a reaction to the strain of what they were doing. Still, better up here in the quiet than sitting in the drawing room with the telly, watching the 24-hour news, which was how the others seemed determined to punish themselves. "Get any sleep last night?" he asked Ian, unwilling somehow to breakaway from the loose embrace to set up the censer.

"Some," Ian replied, and there was that small smile again. "You?"

"Yes, self-twisting has some advantages. I'm not sure I got any actual rest, but I did manage some unconsciousness. Rupert didn't, of course."

"He takes things so much to heart. That's a good thing usually, except in these kinds of situations."

"Not a helpful character trait for a Watcher really; at least, I'm sure that's what the Travers of this world think." Ethan moved reluctantly out from Ian's arm and set the censor down in one corner. He knelt and began the business of lighting the charcoal.

"And we all, of course, put much stock in what the Travers of this world think," Ian said, deadpan.

"I wonder what she's up to." Ethan opened the paper sachet of his favourite incense; this was purely to help him relax, get in the mood for ritual, but hopefully Ian would like it too. "Do you think we'll find her through this door we're heading to?"

Ian's gaze became a little distant, and Ethan realised he was trying to read the patterns for an answer. "It's possible, but... I don't think you'll find the same Francesca Travers you remember."

"Been taking lessons from Keri, have we?" Ethan looked up at Ian appraisingly. "Perhaps you'll be more obliging than her about telling me who'll win the Grand National this year."

"I'm afraid that's far out of my range, m'boy," Ian replied, smiling again, although there seemed to be a hint of sadness to the expression.

Ethan recognised that sadness and thought he knew what it meant, but he refused to think about Ian dying. Not just now. He looked back at his incense and didn't answer directly, saying only, "Tell me what you think of this?" as the smoke began to rise.

"Very appropriate," Ian said after taking a deep breath. "Smells like an ocean storm."

Ethan stayed crouching there for a while, breathing in the soothing smoke, his eyes closed. Dawn would be here soon. Not that he'd seen her yet today, but he'd told Rupert a time to send her up. God, he was glad Ian was here, glad he didn't have to do this alone.

Ian's hand came down on Ethan's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but Ethan could feel his support.

"You've seemed close to Dawn since rescuing her," Ethan said softly. "This can't be easy for you either."

"Truthfully? Not much of this has been."

Ethan moved his hand to rest on top of Ian's. "You don't complain much, but then, I've always been able to imagine at least some of what this must be like for you."

"For the record?" Ian said, and Ethan could hear the smile in his voice. "You're not included among the things that haven't been easy."

"I'm glad." Ethan stood, taking hold of Ian's hand as it fell from his shoulder and looking him in the eye. "You have, quite literally, changed my life, dear crow."

Ian shook his head, the smile remaining on his face. "You changed it yourself. I just helped you find your way to the path."

"I'm not saying you did the work for me, just that without you showing me, I couldn't have done it." Ethan thought back to Devon. "Do you remember stalking me through the village?"

Ian chuckled. "You walking along in a sulk with your face like a thundercloud, all but muttering under your breath about the unfairness of life."

"You doing your old man of the sea bit, trying to impress me by appearing from nowhere." Ethan laughed.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Maybe," Ethan acknowledged with a smile. He was still holding Ian's hand, and they were standing quite close; it felt very comfortable. "I was more impressed by my first taste of your power, however."

"Of course you were," Ian said with airy confidence. "You recognised a match for the potential you had within yourself."

"Did you ever allow yourself doubts about me? After waiting all that time for me to come to you..."

Ian shook his head, suddenly serious. "Never. I've never doubted you, my dear boy, and you've never let me down. You didn't just meet my expectations, you surpassed them."

The praise burned inside him, feeling wonderful, but a little terrifying also. He grinned weakly at Ian, but then looked down. "We need to talk before Dawn gets here. I'm going to... try something." He had little choice about telling Ian as he would be able to sense what Ethan was doing.

Ian looked at him closely, intensely. "Tell me."

Ethan let Ian's hand go and rubbed his face. "I'm going to play host, preserve her pattern inside me."

For a long moment, Ian didn't react, just continued to look at Ethan in that intense, probing way as if looking for some kind of mental defect. "I don't need to tell you how dangerous that is."

Ethan felt himself wince. "It won't be for long. At least, I hope it won't. I think I can create a kind of pouch with a selective membrane, keeping the stuff of her safe from my own body's defences. I've been practicing after seeing what was possible with the ants' nest. I think I can rewrite my own DNA within the pouch to store the pattern of her mind."

Ian's eyes narrowed. "You mean to try to bring her back."

This time the wince was more of a grimace. "I promised Rupert."

He could almost see Ian's mind racing as he considered the plan. "It could work," he finally allowed. "But the complexity and sheer amount of pattern weaving involved, it's going to need an extraordinary amount of power."

"I'll find it," Ethan insisted, not letting himself doubt. "I don't have a choice here, Ian. It wasn't just a casual promise; it was a One of Three." And anyway, he quite simply didn't want to spend the rest of his life as Dawn's murderer.

Ian let out his breath. "It could kill you," he said bluntly.

"I won't let it." Ethan folded his arms and glared at Ian. "Survival is what I do best."

Ian stared at him for another long moment; then he chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, my young fox, you really are one of a kind. There's a reason why it's you and Rupert who are the ones to have made it this far."

To his surprise, Ethan rather wished Ian had kept on feeling doubtful. It was easier somehow to believe in himself when facing opposition. There was nothing quite like someone having faith in him to make his insecurity start screaming. "There are three of us in this, Ian. We want the enemy to underestimate what you offer to the cause, but don't underestimate it yourself."

Ian shook his head, wearing a sad smile. "I'm merely support. My part is to get you ready and in place. But seeing you, knowing you –and knowing Rupert– I know now why Derek and I weren't able to fulfil the prophecy. We didn't have your... strength. Your conviction."

Ethan gave his mentor an exasperated frown, "That, my dear Ian, is a load of old bollocks."

"No, it's not." There was an air of affectionate amusement now about Ian. "You don't see it, but everyone around you can, or if they can't now, they will. There's a core of strength to you, Ethan, that you're only beginning to discover, but it's always been there really. That's how you've survived this long, through all that you've experienced."

Ethan really had no idea what to make of this praise; it was going further than even he wanted at his most needy. "You're still alive too, Ian," he pointed out, and immediately regretted it. He added quickly, "And you've lived longer and been through more."

Ian reached out and squeezed Ethan's arm affectionately. "One day you'll stop brushing off compliments and believe what I've told you."

"I appreciate the pep talk. Truly. I'm fine though. I don't need you to be my mentor today." Ethan reached out and touched Ian's face lightly. "I like you best as my friend."

Ian echoed the gesture. "As your friend, I think you're an extraordinary person as well."

All right, something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn't that Ethan thought Ian was lying, just that he'd never known the older man to speak with such open admiration before. The amount of easy affection was unlike Ian too; Ethan normally had to cajole such touches out of him. "What's going on, my black-feathered friend?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're being... odd."

"I'm frequently described as odd," Ian replied evasively.

Ethan pursed his lips. "Do I have to tickle it out of you?" And then suddenly, he knew. He felt the warmth drain from his body. "Oh. Oh Christ." Turning away in a hurry, Ethan stared blankly at the wall.

Ian touched his shoulder gently. "Every path has an ending, my boy."

"Not now though. Not now." It was too soon. Far too soon. It would always be too bloody soon.

"Not this minute, no, but very soon now." He could hear the smile in Ian's voice. "Derek's waiting."

"Today?"

Ian didn't answer, just squeezed his shoulder.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. "I've always been a selfish bugger," he told Ian with a little, desperate laugh. "Hard to let go even when I know that... that you'll be better off." Suddenly, Ethan turned around and took Ian by the shoulders. "When you see him, will you tell Derek something from me?"

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"This." Ethan pulled Ian forward and kissed him with all the strength and passion of the friendship between them.

Ian seemed a little surprised for the first second, but then recovered enough to kiss him back with the same enthusiasm. When they finally parted, he gave Ethan a lopsided smile. "I believe I can pass that message on for you, yes."

There was so much Ethan wanted to say, to beg, but none of it would be fair, and little of it would be possible to verbalise without an embarrassing scene anyway. Ethan ran his fingers unhappily over Ian's weathered face and finally managed, "I'm not ready for the training wheels to be taken off."

"You don't need them," Ian told him, once again mirroring Ethan's gesture, his fingers warm on Ethan's face. "You haven't for quite a while." Ian smiled as he switched metaphors. "Do I need to shove you out of the nest to prove to you that you can fly?"

"I know I can fly." Ethan smiled softly. "But I want to flock."

Ian chuckled. "Take a look around you, young fox. You've gathered quite a flock for yourself without me. Or should I say, a 'skulk'?"

Ethan opened his mouth to complain further, but there was a knock at the door. The reason they were here in this room shot back into place like a deadbolt in his mind. Bugger. He pulled away from Ian and stood staring out of the window, tweaking his own patterns indiscriminately to get his emotions in check.

Ian clasped his shoulder briefly before moving away. Ethan heard his footsteps cross the room and the door open.

***

Giles looked up as the door opened, and he exchanged a grave nod with Ian. Then he turned to Dawn at his side and gave her a reassuring smile, or as reassuring as any smile could be in these circumstances. Dawn managed a weak one in return.

"Ethan said you'd be ready for us by half past," Giles said, glancing around and spotting Ethan across the room, a lonely figure at the window.

"Everything's been prepared," Ian confirmed. "We've just been discussing some things while we waited."

Giles wondered what those things had been, but it certainly wasn't the time or place to pursue it. He nodded then excused himself and crossed over to Ethan, initiating contact by sliding an arm around his waist.

Ethan seemed to lean on Giles briefly, but kept his hands to himself as he turned around. Dawn was still standing near the doorway, looking small and scared. "Hello, hero," Ethan said to her in as gentle a voice as Giles had ever heard him use.

Her wide-eyed gaze flickered to Ethan, frowning slightly as if she thought he was mocking her, but whatever she saw in Ethan's face made her smile. Well, the corners of her mouth made an attempt anyway, before her lips settled back into a hard line strongly reminiscent of her sister's grimmer expressions. "Giles says it will be quick."

"As quick as we can make it." Ethan's voice was level and calm. "I'll put you to sleep and make sure you feel nothing. Bad enough you have to do this; no need to make it torture too, eh?"

"Everything's ready," Ian said, his voice also kind and gentle. "We'll start when you are." And wasn't that a horrible thing to ask the child? – are you ready to sacrifice yourself? The only thing worse would be not to give that final control to Dawn at all. Giles hated this all fiercely.

"There's a robe." Ethan gestured towards the table. "It's not essential, but may make things easier for us. If you hate the idea, we don't–"

"Glory made me wear something special as well," Dawn said, her voice oddly distant.

"Right." Ethan took an obvious breath. "No robe then. That's fine."

"Are you going to cut me? She did that too. Well, Doc did."

Giles, his hand still on Ethan's back, felt Ethan tense and straighten with the reaction to that, but his voice somehow remained soft. "When you're asleep, not before. We just need a little blood, you see."

It was difficult, how this seemed to be echoing that horrible time three years before. "Some things, unfortunately, are basic for these kind of rituals," Giles said gently, trying to dispel that spectre as best he could.

Dawn looked at the circle on the floor. "Do I stand in that?"

"The circle is where the ritual will be carried out," Ian replied, "but it's up to you whether you want to step into it yourself, or if you would rather we put you to sleep first."

Dawn shrugged and stepped over the line, standing in the very centre where she folded her arms, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms as if cold. "I wrote some letters," she said to no one in particular. "Xander's got them. He sat with me last night."

Of course. Giles spared a brief grateful thought for Xander's presence, with his quiet competence and compassion. He took a step towards the circle, wanting to add his own comfort to whatever Xander had provided the night before, but he only got as far as, "Dawn, I..." before words fled him, and he trailed off helplessly.

Dawn gave him a little smile. "It's okay, Giles."

Ethan entered the circle, standing beside Dawn. "Whenever you're ready," he said in a low voice. "As soon as you say, we can make you sleep, but not until you give the word."

"Remember what I told you," Ian said to Dawn, stepping up to take his spot at the circle. "There's all sorts of life and all sorts of ways of remembering and experiencing."

"Hey. Three and a half years is better than one, at least." She poked Ian in the ribs in a way that would have been playful normally. "Bet you didn't think when you rescued me from Doc in Cambridge that you'd only have to... have to–"

Ethan interrupted. "Would you like me to reduce the... stress you're experiencing, Dawn? I won't do it without permission, but I'd advise you say yes. I'd say yes, anyway, if it were me." He made a grimace that Giles recognised as an attempt at Ethan's usual jaunty grin. "Never have understood these types who think it's somehow admirable to have a tooth extracted without anaesthetic."

"I... I don't know." She looked uncertainly between Giles and Ian. "Should I?

"It's up to you," Giles replied, feeling it wasn't his place to tell her one way or the other. "Ethan's very good at doing what he's offering though."

Dawn looked back at Ethan. "Just do it? The sleep thing, I mean. I'm ready. I'm not going to get more ready."

Almost as if he couldn't help it, Ethan immediately looked at Giles, his expression, just for a fraction of a moment, terrified. Giles instinctively took a step towards him before he stopped himself, instead doing his best to send wordless reassurance over their bond. It had to be wordless; Giles didn't have any words just then.

Ethan closed his eyes briefly, perhaps reacting to Giles' silent touch, and then turned back to Dawn. He moved around close behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Lean back on me, sweet thing," he instructed. When she did so rather awkwardly, he looped one arm around her waist and held her tight; the other hand he moved to her forehead. "Never forget," he murmured in her ear, barely loud enough for Giles to hear. "You're a hero, just like your sister. You are saving the world here. We won't let anyone forget what you've done. Promise."

With that, he moved his hand over Dawn's wide eyes, and she slumped in his arms. With Ian's help, he lowered her to the floor in the circle.

Giles closed his eyes briefly, but opened them again almost immediately. No matter how uncomfortable this was to watch, he needed to do so, to respect Dawn's sacrifice, to respect the difficult task that Ethan was being forced to perform.

Ian and Ethan laid Dawn out carefully on the floor, her head on a small pillow. Ethan took some time just kneeling at her side with a look of concentration. He was perhaps making sure she was very deeply asleep. "I need to bleed her now," he said eventually, but made no move to actually do it.

Silently, Ian picked up the small knife and container that had been set inside the circle and knelt opposite Ethan on the other side of Dawn's form. He handed the container to Ethan, but kept the knife for himself.

Ethan looked at Ian sharply. "You don't have to–"

"You've got enough to handle, especially with this part," Ian replied, giving Ethan a strangely intent look. "Let me help where I can."

The pair exchanged a glance so intense that, were Giles not so certain of Ethan's devotion, it would have worried him. Then Ethan capitulated. "All right. Just a few small drops, remember."

Ian picked up Dawn's hand and pressed the edge of the blade against her palm. He then moved to hold it over the small container, a glass vial really, that Ethan was holding.

A few dark red drops dripped into the glass, staining the sides. "That's enough," Ethan said tightly, standing. "I'll deal with this; you prepare her." He stepped out of the circle and walked to the table against the opposite wall where he began to do something. Giles couldn't see what as Ethan's back was to him, but he could feel Ethan's magic almost crackling in the room.

A glance back at Ian showed that he was bandaging Dawn's hand, but Giles felt more drawn to what Ethan was doing. He still couldn't see it, but it felt... important. The frizzle of magic in the air stopped, and Ethan seemed to lurch forward, sagging against the table.

"Ethan?" Giles asked, involuntarily taking a step towards him before he stopped himself once again. Ian also, he noted, had turned to help Ethan.

"I'm fine." Ethan straightened, but kept his back to them all. "Just preparing the Matrix for the Key."

That didn't stop Ian from going over and laying a hand against Ethan's back, speaking to him in tones too low for Giles to make out. Giles knew he was not involved in this ritual, that he was a bit of a fifth wheel here, but it felt odd to watch someone not him supporting Ethan.

The pair came back to the circle from the side-table, Ethan carrying the glass case with the small crystal key inside it. They knelt beside Dawn. "We're going to do it now, Rupert," Ethan said, not turning to look at him. "Is there anything you want to do first?"

Was there? Giles looked at Dawn's sleeping form, searching for anything that he should have said or done, but he couldn't think of anything he'd forgotten. So he just stared at Dawn, memorising every detail of her appearance, remembering with as much detail as he could every moment he'd known her. Then he tore his eyes away to look at Ethan instead. "Do it," he said, the words coming out harsher than he'd meant them.

There followed a long period of silence. Giles could feel the magic use; it was huge. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up in response to the sheer power of it, but all he could see with his eyes were two older men kneeling to either side of a sleeping girl.

Eventually, Ethan whispered, "We've made the link, now we're going to... unravel her."

Giles watched as Ian took hold of Ethan's hands over the top of Dawn, and suddenly, it was if someone had turned the heat right up on the fire. Giles staggered under the weight of the energy the pattern mages were calling into the room, feeling alien within it and desperately craving his own orderly power.

Ian and Ethan tensed and shook as a hurricane of power built within the room. Muscles and tendons stood out on their faces and necks; their hands were white-knuckled, their lips peeling back to reveal their teeth. Then as quickly as the charge had built, it was released, with an almost audible sucking noise.

Dawn's body jolted once and then... unravelled. Just as Ethan had said. Like knitting pulled back into a single thread, which flowed rapidly through the glass of the case and into the crystal. It glowed a vivid green. Her empty clothes dropped to the floor.

"It's done," Ian said, voice thick with weariness.

Giles took that as permission to step forward and reach out a hand to Ethan, knowing he would probably need the contact as much as Giles himself did.

When Ethan looked up, Giles was shocked by how drained and old he appeared. Not since the Chaos-withdrawal in Devon had Ethan looked so ill. "Rupert, I..." he croaked, then winced. "Could do with a touch of your magic."

Giles closed the remaining scant distance between them and knelt, wrapping his arms around Ethan and pouring as much of his magic into him as he could.

He quickly found himself holding Ethan up, at least to start with, although as he fed Ethan magic, the weight in his arms became less. Ethan eventually pulled away and slumped down beside Giles, smiling wanly but looking far less ragged. "If you have any left, I'm sure Ian..."

"I'm fine," Ian broke in, and he did sound stronger than he had earlier. "You know you took more of a burden with this than I," he said to Ethan.

Ethan didn't deny it. "I know we still have a lot to do today, but I could do with a small drink."

"So could I," Giles said, finally turning his attention from Ethan to the glass case where what was Dawn now floated, glowing softly.


	2. Chapter 2

Ethan sat on the coffee table in their bedroom, holding Skunk in his arms and ruffling her long fur. "I think," he said very reluctantly, "we should take them with us."

Rupert looked up from sorting and checking various weapons. "Something in the patterns?"

"In London yesterday, looking for the crystal, I began to feel very strongly that the dogs should have been there. As it turned out, we didn't need them, but I think that feeling may well have been to do with today. I think they have come to us in much the same way as your hidey-hole came to you, dear. They're part of this, whether we want them to be or not." Ethan wrinkled his nose. He really didn't want to take Skunk anywhere near London currently.

Rupert glanced down at Gwydion, who was sitting beside him watching quietly. "Yes," he finally said. "I do believe you're right."

There were noises, bangs and clanks, coming from all over the house. Matthew and the Bobbricks were closing the building up, shuttering windows, switching things off, and generally getting ready to leave the place empty. Matthew didn't want the Bobbricks here alone whilst everyone else was fighting God knows what in London, and so the house was going to have to stand by itself.

Personally, Ethan thought the old couple would be safer here behind the wards than almost anywhere else, but he did understand Matthew's concern. "I hope the M4 is still open."

"If it's not, we'll find another way in. As a last resort, there's always teleportation."

"One hell of a lot of power to use up just before a big fight. And that reminds me, why aren't the Coven here, or rather, heading for London?"

Rupert shrugged. "All I've been able to get out of Ian is that they're fighting their own battles. And Lucy's not answering her phone."

Ah, Ian. Ethan looked down, staring with pattern sight into Skunk's fur as the dog wriggled ecstatically under the attention he was giving her. "I wouldn't rely on Ian's help too much longer, if I were you."

"What?" There was a pause as Rupert figured out the meaning of what Ethan was saying. "He thinks..."

"Today, or at least, during whatever battle we start today."

"Bugger."

Ethan didn't answer. His guts hurt – stress, of course. Or maybe... Well, that was only to be expected, he supposed. He was breaking several laws of nature, after all. He stood abruptly, putting Skunk on the floor, and headed over to the drawers wherein he kept his smaller belongings.

Rupert moved over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe he could be wrong, have misinterpreted–"

Shaking his head, Ethan raised his hand to squeeze Rupert's. "Ian doesn't tend to make mistakes like that. He has some of Keri's ability, you know. Far more than I have."

"No one's infallible. Not even Keri."

Ethan turned and gave Rupert a wry look. "That's why we're following her words to the letter then, is it?"

"My point is you shouldn't give up on Ian just yet, and Ian shouldn't give up on himself."

"I don't think Ian's all that upset, dear. Not really. I think 'keen' might be the word, actually. Oh, ignore me. I'm being a selfish child wanting to keep my... whatever he is with me longer than he's got." Ethan sighed and rested his forehead on Rupert's shoulder. "I'm tired, Ripper, and we've barely even started."

"I know." Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan, pulling him tightly against him. "So am I, but we have to keep going."

Ethan closed his eyes and tried to relax in the haven of Rupert's embrace. "How are the others – the girls? Xander? I haven't really spoken to anyone bar you and Ian for days."

Rupert's hand came up and stroked through Ethan's hair soothingly. "The girls are a bit... nervous isn't quite the right word. Skittish, perhaps? It's their first apocalypse, after all. Xander's Xander. He likes this about as much as we do, but he's been through enough that he knows how to persevere. It's not his first apocalypse." Ethan could hear the smile in Rupert's voice with the last.

Ethan nodded against Rupert. "Last time I saw Pammy, she was on the phone arranging a small army of Slayers for us. I guess this is exactly the sort of thing the girls have been training for."

"It is. It's the sort of thing for which they were created. And I have to say, there is a great deal of comfort knowing we have that kind of power on our side, even while they're more people to worry about."

"Yes, an army of Slayers at hand is not something to be sniffed at." Ethan pulled back. "I suppose getting a move on would be the right idea here." After a brief kiss, he turned back to the drawer.

As Rupert moved back to his own preparations, Ethan heard him mutter, "At least I didn't spend last night playing a dwarf with the strength of a doily."

Ethan thought about asking, but decided he was better off not knowing. His fingers rested on the wooden box that had been his gift from Harriet. His instincts told him to take it, although it was hard to imagine taking time to get tarted up before the maybe-probably battle. He slipped it into his small bag just in case. Underneath where the box had been was the star-chart from the office he'd broken into with Xander, together with the coin the lad had also found there.

He slipped the coin into his pocket and the chart into his bag. "Take the pen I gave you," he told Rupert.

"Already in my pocket," Rupert replied, checking the firing mechanism of a crossbow before laying it aside.

Ethan's collection of magical bits and bobs was a sadly depleted selection compared to pre-Chaos withdrawal days, but nonetheless, he still had a few things that could come in useful. There was, for instance, all that was left of the coil of rope from which he'd cut the length he'd used to bind Buffy's hands while he tattooed her. He put it into his bag, but something made him change his mind. He took it out ready to add to the contents of his jacket pockets.

His collection of enchanted dusts and powders were probably way past their use-by date, but he took them all anyway. If all else failed, he could simply chuck them in an enemy's eyes. The loaded dice wouldn't take up much room and occasionally had helpful effects, and his tarot cards... Well, maybe there'd be long inactive moments to fill between skirmishes. In the end, Ethan pretty much emptied the drawer, shutting it with a determined bang. "Right. I'm ready."

Rupert was just fastening the large weapons bag he was bringing. He set it on the floor and then turned to Ethan. "As am I."

They stared at each other across the bedroom. "Whatever happens, Ripper," Ethan said quietly, "however things go, what we've had since you rescued me makes it worth it." Rupert didn't answer with words, but the way he crossed the room and kissed Ethan fiercely was answer enough.

***

So once again, Giles and Ethan were heading for London, but this time they weren't alone; Megan and the dogs were with them in Giles' Rover.

Megan had been a quiet presence in the back so far, perhaps subdued by the silence from her two Watchers in the front, but as they passed Slough, she suddenly piped up. "I think Madiha would fight with us if you gave her a chance. On our side, I mean."

"Oh no, dear," Ethan said immediately. "I don't think she's ready for that. Nowhere near."

Their captive Slayer was travelling in Xander's car, safely watched by both Kat and Ian. While it was true that she was coming around a bit, and they'd stopped drugging her, what Megan was suggesting seemed unlikely to Giles.

"I think you're wrong," Megan said stubbornly. "Since you and Ian spoke to her, and since she's been watching the news, knowing Ms Travers is one of the people behind what she's seeing, she's changed her mind about a lot of things. Kat and I have been talking to her."

"I'm sure you have," Giles put in, trying to smooth things over, "but regardless of how much she's come around to the truth, asking her to go up so soon against those she trusted would be unfair to her."

Megan was silent for a while. "Couldn't we at least drop her off at her parents' house? She shouldn't be a prisoner anymore, and she's really worried about them."

Giles sighed. "The truth is, we don't have the time," he said bluntly. "That is, if her parents' house is even still accessible." Seeing the worried expression Megan was wearing in the rear-view mirror, he offered a compromise. "We'll see if we can't put her in a support position. I'll talk to Pamela about it."

"Thank you, Giles." How well did he recognise the deceptively meek tones of a Slayer who'd got her own way, more or less.

Ethan shifted in his seat. ' _She's angry with me,_ ' he sent to Giles.

' _I wouldn't say that,_ ' Giles replied, glancing over.

Ethan had a coin in his hands and was walking it between his fingers like a street magician. ' _She's wondering when I'll sacrifice her for the greater good._ '

Giles couldn't deny that; he was sure that thought passed through every Slayer's mind eventually. ' _Talk to her_ ,' he suggested, knowing he was giving advice that he had never really managed to take with Buffy, not fully and not over this particular issue at least.

' _And say what? Hi, sweetheart, betcha wondering what I did to your friend, aren't you? Well, don't fret, she's in a much nicer place now. Much like you soon will be..._ '

' _I was thinking something a bit less confrontational and biting actually._ '

' _You do surprise me._ ' Ethan looked away, out of the window.

Taking matters into his own hands, Giles asked aloud, "How are you dealing with all of this, Megan?"

She leant forward, her hand on the back of Ethan's chair. "Oh, you know, fine. Ish. I won't say I'm not nervous, but this is what it's all about for us, isn't it? I think a good fight might help... ease tensions."

"The way things are going, we'll probably be able to bring you one." Giles paused and then asked a bit awkwardly, "And what's happened? Is there anything you want to say about that?"

Megan was silent for a few moments then said quietly, "You mean Dawn, don't you?" Ethan twisted even more in his seat, as if trying to get away from both of them.

Giles nodded, keeping his voice even, although he carried his own guilt about it. "Yes."

"It was her decision," Megan said, and then added in a pained voice, almost as if she didn't want to say it at all, "What would you have done if she'd said no?"

That was a question that Giles still didn't want to contemplate. "Frankly? I don't know," he finally replied softly.

"Then I would have done it anyway," Ethan said harshly, without turning. Megan was silent. She let go of the chair and leant back into her seat again. There was a whine from one of the dogs; Skunk, Giles rather thought.

Mutely, Giles reached over and briefly squeezed Ethan's hand. He was only a little surprised when Ethan's hand turned and squeezed his own tightly back before he could withdraw it. Ethan's grip was painful. ' _Love?_ ' Giles sent, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance over.

Ethan let Giles have his hand back. ' _Sorry. I... Sorry._ ' He sighed and said aloud, "Megan, without Dawn's sacrifice, we'd all be facing death. Death or a Chaos-nightmare, which would certainly destroy who we are if not quite what we are. Everyone, Megan –the whole world. Can't you–"

Giles felt Megan shift in the back, leaning forward again. "It's all right, Ethan. I get it. I'm just glad it wasn't me who had to do it to her." She added more quietly, "And that it wasn't me you had to do it to."

Ethan twisted the other way in his chair, to look over at Megan. "It's hard enough to let you go into this battle today."

"It's never easy having to make these decisions," Giles put in. "Easier when it's only yourself you have to put on the line. When it's others, loved ones..."

"We're lucky we have you to make those decisions," Megan said resolutely. "Dawn..." She sighed sadly. "Dawn understood."

"She did," Giles agreed, thinking of the conversation they'd had the night before. "We're not giving up on her either. When this is over, we'll find some way of bringing her back. The monks made her human once, and what has been done once can be repeated. We just need to find out how."

Ethan laughed, and it wasn't a nice laugh, but before Giles had a chance to question him, Megan gasped. They were approaching Heathrow again, and it was worse than ever. The black morass had extended far beyond where it had covered yesterday; it was close enough now to the road for them to be able to make out detail in the writhing cloud.

"Welcome to the Hotel California," Ethan said, rather obliquely.

***

Ethan was feeling a little odd. He was surrounded by Slayers and junior Watchers, all of them looking at him as if he were some kind of authority. "So," he said, with a touch of strained humour, "time to go over the top into no man's land and shout 'here I am, boys, come and get me'?"

They stared blankly back at him, all bar a couple of the older Watchers who frowned in obvious disapproval. He sighed and looked around for a friendlier face.

They were gathered in the street outside Shuttlecock and Hazel's, the ex-department store and location of Mysterious Door #1. Beyond their little troop was a cordon manned by soldiers and armed police in what was undoubtedly an uneasy alliance, and beyond them, a few resolute citizens, determined to see the excitement no matter how dangerous. They were probably all journalists. Ethan had long ago decided that the continued existence of derring-do reporters was a reasonable refutation of Darwinism.

Rupert was a few feet away, talking to Phelps, the Watcher who'd been in charge of the Council types guarding this place. Rupert's expression was serious, almost grim, but confident too, the mask of Head Watcher firmly in place. Gwydion sat to attention at his side, looking every inch the professional working hound.

In contrast, Skunk was running around, darting between legs and yapping in a state of total over excitement; Ethan sternly told her off – mentally, as not everyone needed to hear it. His dog came to heel, her head hanging.

Ethan turned his head to the right where he could see Ian leaning against the wall of the building, seemingly completely at ease as he looked over their amassed troops with an air of amusement. Ethan supposed that knowing for sure you were about to die could bring with it a strange kind of calm, especially knowing what –or rather, who– awaited you beyond. It was hard to suppress a childish reaction to Ian's apparent eagerness to leave him, however. Some infantile and profoundly stupid part of him seemed to feel that losing Ian would be punishment for... Well, for Dawn. Shaking his head, trying to clear it or at least force some sense into it, Ethan caught sight of Kat and waved to her. "Come here a jiffy, sweetheart?"

Kat, who'd been listening in as Xander talked to another of the Watchers, walked over. "What's up?"

Ethan gestured at the large gathering of super-powered ducklings he'd somehow managed to collect. "These lovely young ladies need organising somehow. I believe they're already in functional groups, two or three to a Watcher, but I haven't a clue where to allocate them or even if it's time yet to do so. Perhaps you could entertain them somehow while we wait? Drill them or give them some rousing Churchillian rhetoric. Anything really, so long as they stop looking at me as if I'm expected to give them a worm or crunchy mouse or something."

To her credit, Kat tried to hide her smile, even if she didn't do a very good job of it. "You're a figure of authority to them and maybe shading just a bit towards a legend. Or at least, the lead in some of the stories they tell, you and Giles."

"Yes, well. I'd love to debunk some of those urban myths, but perhaps now is not the time. Please, Kat? Maybe a quick lesson in field surgery or something. I'm sure Adkins here" –he waved at one of the two Watchers who had frowned at his joke– "would be happy to play the part of your victim."

Luckily, Rupert finished with the Watcher-in-charge and headed over to join Ethan while Phelps started barking orders to the throng. "Phelps will keep things in line out here while we're inside," Rupert told them. "We're taking Elliot, Simpkins, Passet, and their Slayers with us for backup."

"We're going in now?" Ethan asked. He picked up his canvas attaché bag that had been resting against his leg. Inside it were his various magical bits and pieces, and more importantly, the re-casketed glass case that contained the Bachian Matrix.

Rupert nodded as the Watchers he'd just named came forward with a bevy of weapon-wielding girls, and the others took up defensive positions around the building. "Ready or not..."

Once everybody was together, they started inside, stepping through the main doors and then heading off to the side to find the emergency stairs down into the basement. Silence reigned as they descended; the only sounds were those of their footsteps on the stairs. It was a bit eerie, such a large group moving with so little noise.

The basement was not open as Ethan had for some reason been expecting. They were led along a dim corridor and through a door into a largish empty room – recently emptied, if the long scrapes in the dust on the floor were anything to go by. There was, of course, the freestanding door in the centre, which was hard to ignore. There was a doorframe around it, but nothing held the frame up. There was a Watcher/Slayers cadre already installed down here, as well as quite a lot of equipment and the technicians to operate it, which meant the room became quickly crowded.

"Has anyone actually opened it yet?" Ethan asked, pushing forward to examine the door more closely.

"No, sir," one of the technicians replied, with a deference that was rather horrifying. "All attempts at unlocking it have proven unsuccessful."

Xander moved forward until he was standing beside Ethan in front of the door. "Mellon!" he said dramatically. "Open Sesame!" Everybody paused and stared at the door, which remained firmly shut. Xander shrugged. "Hey, worth a try. Sometimes the absurd and obvious works."

Ethan rolled his eyes, reached out his free hand and tried the handle. It wouldn't give, apparently locked tight. Hmm. The door was made of wood, solid, not panelled. The only mark on it was a small circular indentation at about head height in the centre. He ran his fingers over that thoughtfully. It was as if something had once sat in that spot and fallen out, something about the size of...

Laughing to himself, Ethan handed Xander his bag. He felt in his pocket and drew out the coin Xander had found during their ill-fated spot of espionage. Looking at it now, Ethan realised with a small shock of recognition, that the symbol on the 'heads' side was a composite of the three that were on the Pilantine casket holding the Matrix. He really should have realised that before. That meant, of course, that the third and unidentified symbol probably did not mean 'crystal' as he'd initially guessed.

He showed the coin to Xander with a wink and then placed it into the indentation in the door. It fitted perfectly, and there was a 'clunk' of a lock drawing back within the door. Ethan put his hand back to the handle and turned. The door opened.

Feeling the ludicrousness of the situation, Ethan turned and stage-bowed at the assembled ranks. "Thank you. And for my next trick..."

"Well, that's the first barrier conquered," Rupert murmured, stepping forward to get a good look through the door, but all there was to see was the basement on the other side.

One of the technicians pushed between them with some kind of beeping instrument with a sensor rod attached to it on a spiral cord. Ethan stepped back and let the man wave his wand around the doorframe, pressing buttons and taking readings.

Skunk whined at his feet, and he picked her up. She was getting to be a little heavy for this sort of thing now, but he found holding her often helped him to think. ' _All line up and march through two by two?_ ' he asked Rupert mentally.

' _Basically,_ ' Rupert replied. ' _We'll send a couple of Slayers through first as they're best equipped to deal with sudden surprises._ ' He turned and said aloud, "Megan? Kat? Would you like to take point?" Ethan's immediate response was to wonder why Rupert couldn't send two of the other girls first into potential danger, but he had sense enough not to voice it as their two Slayers stepped up to stand in front of the door, weapons readied.

The technician bloke withdrew and was quickly deep in discussion with the other white-coated types. Ethan shivered. He doubted he'd ever be comfortable again around people clothed that way.

Pamela was with them too, and she moved forward now to converse with Rupert. Ethan moved closer to listen in. "...some kind of potential dimensional vortex in effect," she was saying. "By which they mean, I think, that there's nothing much there currently, but something could possibly be triggered."

Rupert nodded. "That's generally how portals work, although usually they don't come complete with their own freestanding door."

"Shall we...?" Megan asked, shooting a questioning look at Rupert and Ethan. Ethan gestured with his hand to Giles, giving the floor to the Head Watcher. Rupert nodded, and Kat and Megan exchanged looks then stepped through...

Only to appear on the other side of the doorway, still firmly in the basement. He couldn't help it; Ethan laughed.

"Rather anti-climatic, isn't it?" Ian asked with humour, grinning at Ethan in perfect understanding.

"It appears there's another lock we have to get through," Rupert said, stepping closer to the door and running a hand along the frame.

"Let me," Ethan said, following him. "Maybe with pattern sight, I can–"

"There's something on the inside of the jamb here." Rupert was peering more closely at the wood. "Let me see if–" As he spoke, Rupert moved in an effort to get a better look and inadvertently stepped through the doorway.

And vanished.

Ethan didn't just see Rupert go, he felt him. A shock ran through their bond that made him want to scream. Without thought, moving at a speed born from a rush of adrenaline, he sprinted through the door...

Only to slam into Rupert's back, knocking them both over.

Rupert made a sound something like "oof!" as he hit the floor with Ethan's full weight on top of him, getting the wind knocked out of him.

To start with, Ethan was so relieved to be back with Rupert that he didn't even question where they were, but as he rolled from Rupert to allow him to breathe, he looked around in a little confusion. They were in a room identical to the one they'd come from, only completely empty of other people, and indeed, magic doorways.

Rupert rolled over and looked up. "Wha–" he began, having to pause for breath that was still coming back. "What happened?"

"You went day-tripping without me," Ethan told him, standing and holding his hand out. "I think we –or at least, you– were the trigger."

"Ah." Rupert took Ethan's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "I hadn't realised. From my point of view, it was all of you who had suddenly disappeared." He didn't relinquish his grip on Ethan's hand.

"No one else seems to be appearing. How... reassuring," Ethan said sardonically. "Not even the dogs." He hoped Skunk hadn't hurt herself when she fell.

Rupert seemed thoughtful, and so Ethan waited patiently, knowing something important was coming. "All is a maze, and only those who have touched its substance will be able to find the end." Rupert was quoting from the prophecy Keri had given them. He glanced at Ethan. "I suppose that could make this the maze then."

"Looks more like an old storeroom to me." Ethan thought about the prophecy line. "What substance anyway?"

Rupert gave a half shrug. "Dawn thought Chaos."

Yes, he remembered her saying that, but... "No, it can't be Chaos because..." As he spoke, there was a bright flash from the middle of the room, where they had just been sprawled on the floor together. When it dissipated, Ian was standing there. "–Ian would be here," Ethan finished, chuckling. "Well, there are three of us at least."

"I think I am going to be all the reinforcements you can expect," Ian said. "Unless one of those Watchers is holding a secret misspent past with Chaos." He'd obviously worked it out too.

"You mean other than me?" Rupert asked dryly.

It made sense; Ethan nodded. "Others tried and failed to come through before you?" he asked Ian, who also nodded.

"A number of Slayers as well as young Xander. Quite a few people I had to dodge around to get to the doorway myself."

It was a shame about the lack of musclepower, but Ethan was glad to have Ian where he could keep an eye on him. "Well, if Rupert's right, it looks like we have a maze to–" He stopped abruptly. "Bugger."

"What?" Rupert asked, frowning at him.

"The Key," Ethan said. "It's in my bag... which Xander was looking after."

"Bugger," Rupert echoed with a scowl. "Some Guardians we are, can't even manage to bring the Key with us."

Ian grinned smugly. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about this Key would you?" he asked, pulling the softly glowing crystal key from his pocket with a flourish and a smirk.

"Crow, I love you," Ethan told him with heartfelt feeling. "Um, no side effects from touching outside of its case?" The reason he'd left the Matrix in its case rather than slip it into his pocket was worries about the pure Order of the crystal.

Ian shook his head. "Not for us."

Ethan couldn't help coming over and putting his fingers to the Key himself, but he winced as soon as he touched the crystal's smooth surface and drew his hand back in a hurry. Somewhere high in his belly, his secret cache of pattern had roiled and complained in response to the contact. He gave Ian an alarmed look, thanking his stars that he was facing away from Rupert.

"Why don't I hang onto this for now?" Ian said with a casual air as he pocketed the Key again, his sharp eyes meeting Ethan's full of warning and worry.

Time to distract Rupert quickly. "So captain, my captain, do we explore?" Ethan asked, turning.

Rupert nodded, appearing not to have noticed anything wrong. "We're not going to get anything done just standing here."

Ethan looked at the door, open to the shadowy corridor beyond. "No Slayers to send first," he commented.

"We'll just have to do our own scouting," Rupert replied, giving Ethan a smile that was very Ripperesque and then stepping out into darkness with something that seemed very much like relish.

Ethan hurried after him after flashing a look of concern at Ian. The corridor was empty as far as he could tell, and it seemed to be longer than he remembered it being on the other side of the magic door. Far longer. "Done with mirrors, you think?"

"There are all kinds of ways of warping the senses," Ian said from behind him. "We'll need to keep our wits about us here."

"So this _is_ the maze then? Not just a carbon copy of where we were?" Ethan reached out with his pattern senses, but there really wasn't much here to sense, which was odd in and of itself of course. "Ian, there's..." Ethan frowned. "Most of this is illusion; it has to be. Real to our minds and body, but without pattern, without true reality."

Ian nodded. "It's a place of Chaos; the only patterns here would have to be illusion."

"An illusion that nonetheless we have to find our way free from," Rupert said, frowning down the corridor.

"Do we follow the rules, walk as we're channelled, or do we break them?" Ethan looked thoughtfully at the wall, reaching out a hand to tap it.

Rupert reached out and caught his hand before he could do so. "We follow for now, until we can find out more about this place." He smiled slightly at Ethan. "The breaking will come later."

"I do wish you wouldn't say things like that, dearheart," Ethan said as they started to walk. "There's altogether too much fate around us currently. The air fairly crackles with destiny, and I don't want to give it any ideas."

"I rather fear it's going to do as it will regardless of what we say or don't say," Rupert observed, "but perhaps we should talk about peaceful resolutions just in case."

"Please." The walls of the corridor were plain and featureless and no exits were obvious. It came as no surprise to Ethan when he glanced back and saw that the door of the room they'd come from had vanished. "Rats, meet trap," he muttered.

"Squeak, squeak," Ian pronounced solemnly.

Ethan felt a stab of mild annoyance at Ian's flippancy and what it probably meant. Instead of saying anything, however, he twisted his own patterns, aiming for a state of calm alertness. Self-twisting was getting to be a bit of a habit just recently; it was better for Rupert if Ethan avoided giving his emotions free reign, and anyway, it wasn't as if anything he could be feeling at the moment would be fun.

As if to confirm that, the muscles of his gut twinged. His body, it was turning out, was really not fond of being used as a receptacle for someone else's complete blueprint. Frowning, he concentrated his senses, not really looking where he was going as he worked on improving the membrane between his own flesh and the treasury he'd created.

His concentration was so deep that he walked right into Rupert's back. "You stopped walking," Ethan pointed out redundantly.

"And you didn't," Rupert pointed out just as obviously.

Ian chuckled. After a quick glance at him, Ethan moved back a few steps from Rupert and looked around the still uniformly featureless corridor. "Why did you stop walking?"

"I was going to ask if either of you could do a spell, or if you know of some other way we could sense hidden openings. Otherwise, we're going to have to check the walls as we go."

"If here was real, if it had pattern..." Ethan shrugged. "I'm still in favour of breaking the rules. Lend me your pen, and I'll draw a door, see what happens."

"I suppose that's not any more absurd than any of the rest of this." Rupert dug out the pen that Ethan had given him for Christmas and handed it over.

Ethan took off the lid a little nervously, remembering what the pen was capable of and not completely certain it would obey its own rules in this place. Nothing happened, however, and he set about no doubt ruining the gold nib, drawing the outline of a door on the wall beside him. "What do you think, crow?" he asked, as he drew a circle for the handle.

Ian studied it for a minute. "Add some hinges," he suggested. "And channel a bit of power through the pen as you do so."

Nodding, Ethan did so, then adding rough panelling to the door in a sudden inspiration. "Saw a Jackanory once, at least I think it was a Jackanory. About a sick girl with a magic pencil and a boy paralysed by polio. She met him in this dream world, and whatever she drew became real there. Whatever you do, don't let me draw eyes on anything."

Rupert was giving Ethan's drawing an assessing look. "So far all it seems to be is graffiti."

Ethan was forced to agree. He put his finger onto one of his wobbly lines and sent a surge of power around the whole drawing, willing it to become 'real', but it made no difference. "Was worth a try," he said with a shrug.

"I don't think we're through trying yet," Ian said, staring at the drawn door in a way that made it clear to Ethan he was using pattern sense. "I think what we need might be a bit of Order, to solidify the possibility of a door." He glanced at Rupert. "If you would be so kind...?"

Raising an eyebrow, Rupert stepped forward and ran a finger along the lines of the drawing; Ethan could sense magic pouring into the picture.

It wasn't that the scrawled illustration suddenly took on the three-dimensional form and colour of a real door, but something happened. Certain lines moved forward, out from the wall, others moved in. Ethan placed his hand over the circle he had drawn for the handle and found it was now protruding. With a laugh, he turned it, and the 'door' opened.

"So, did you have any place in mind that the door is supposed to lead to?" Rupert asked, wearing a whimsical smile.

"Certainly not this," Ethan answered, moving through into a grey, featureless room much like the one they'd first appeared in, only smaller. "I could never imagine anything as dull as this." There were no other obvious exits from the room, or indeed anything but walls, floor and ceiling.

"So shall we go back or draw our way forward?" Ian asked after a moment.

"Why don't I draw us a chainsaw?" Ethan asked, grinning at the other two.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've used one as a key," Rupert put in.

"Really?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Playing at horror movie villains, were we?"

"I was having problems with disappearing doors. Also, it was at a time when it was quite... satisfying to just cut directly through to the centre of a problem." He glanced at Ethan. "It was the Halloween just before you came back to Sunnydale that last time."

It was hard to explain, even to himself, but there was something strangely erotic about the idea of Rupert wielding a chainsaw. Ethan folded his arms and smirked at him.

"What?" Rupert asked.

"You, wielding large and powerful tools." Ethan didn't try all that hard to suppress his snigger.

Rupert didn't quite roll his eyes. "Perhaps it's for the best we don't have a chainsaw then. Wouldn't want you to be overcome with hilarity."

"Oh, I can assure you, hilarity wouldn't be the pertinent... emotion."

Ian coughed discretely. "Shall I go find a chainsaw and then leave you two alone with it?"

"Stay where you are, m'lord crow, and tell me you wouldn't like to see Rupert manhandling large, throbbing machines." He should, Ethan knew, be taking things a lot more seriously than this, but the situation _was_ a little ridiculous.

"Shouldn't we be getting our minds back on the problem at hand?" Rupert put in, a touch of a blush staining his cheeks.

Ethan sighed. "Just tell me what to draw."

"Another door?" Rupert pointed at the wall opposite the one they'd already drawn. "Keep going in a straight line?"

As Ethan obliged, he pointed out, "The ink reservoir will only create so many doors before it's gone."

Rupert nodded acknowledgement. "Best hope we pick the right direction then."

Three rather skimpily drawn doors later, they were walking down a featureless corridor again. "Whatever the rules are here," Ethan said tetchily, "we're not breaking the right ones."

"Maybe we're not close enough to... whatever it is we're supposed to find here for breaking the rules to help yet," Rupert suggested.

"There is," Ethan said very reluctantly, "the possibility that, within a Chaos-maze, the only way to 'win' is to behave in an orderly fashion – obey the rules, I mean."

"Yes," Ian confirmed, dropping a companionable hand onto Ethan's shoulder. "However much that drives us crazy."

"And it will," Ethan confirmed. "But obeying the rules here just has us wandering forever down an endless corridor, doesn't it?"

"For now," Rupert acknowledged.

"Have patience, my boy," Ian put in. "Sometimes you have to keep going in spite of apparent lack of progress."

"Oh, I'm known for my patience. We shouldn't have any problems then." Ethan snorted.

But onward they walked nonetheless for what felt like hours to Ethan; maybe it actually was. Conversation grew sparse as they slogged through the sensory desert. Being channelled like this was akin to wearing blinkers, and Ethan hated it. They might as well have been walking a sodding treadmill for all the progress they'd made. He was starting to feel claustrophobic. Well, 'starting' wasn't accurate at all.

"We could try going up," he suggested hopefully.

Rupert raised an eyebrow. "Standing on each other's shoulders like some kind of circus act?"

The ceilings were quite low actually. "I could draw a ladder."

"I thought you were the one who wanted to save ink."

Ethan made an inarticulate noise of frustration. "Rupert, this corridor is excruciating, like sensory deprivation torture. I spent four years locked in a place ten foot by five; it didn't do much to improve my tolerance for tedium."

Rupert stopped and reached out for Ethan's hand, sending a stream of his magic through their joined fingers. "I know this is difficult for you, love."

Feeling his cheek twitch, Ethan looked down in chagrin. "I'll try to resist the urge to burn the entire place down."

"At least while we're still in it," Rupert said with a smile, pulling Ethan into his arms.

That felt good. Ethan closed his eyes and allowed himself a few moments just to be with Rupert. _'I'm okay,'_ he sent. _'I can cope so long as you're with me.'_

 _'Always,'_ Rupert sent back.

 _'I'd blame it on the lack of pattern; it unnerves me, but Ian seems to be coping.'_ Ethan nuzzled Rupert's neck. _'I'll just concentrate on your lovely patterns, and all will be fine.'_

He glanced up and saw Ian watching them with his customary little smile, although for the first time in a while, Ethan also saw the old wistfulness back in his mentor's eyes. It was enough to make Ethan pull back and start them moving again.

"Right. Enough time wasting," he said. "We should distract ourselves with diverting conversation while we walk our exercise wheel. Ian, you start."

Ian took the request in his stride. "What kind of diverting conversation did you have in mind?"

"Well, you never did explain how the oil tanker ca–" Ethan started, and then stopped as suddenly there was something in the corridor not them. It was small and furry, about the size of Skunk, but standing on two squat legs. It had a big mouth, almost cartoonishly large, which appeared to be smiling.

"This certainly seems to be a diversion," Ian commented as they all stared at the small creature.

It had large ears, which swivelled to listen to them, and round, dark eyes. "It's not un-cute," Ethan said and reached out with his pattern senses. "Oh, I see. It's not anything at all. Apart from the stuff of Chaos. Rupert, get back."

Rupert turned to look at Ethan. Then his gaze seemed drawn to over Ethan's shoulder. "Whatever it is, it's not alone."

Ethan glanced behind. Sure enough, there was another of the creatures there. Bugger. "Ian, we need to sandwich Rupert." Ethan moved in front of Rupert to protect him from one side.

"I'm not exactly a helpless victim here," Rupert reminded him, stepping out from his protected position.

"It's Chaos," Ethan said, his eyes not leaving the, um, gremlin thing as he moved back in front of Rupert. "Active Chaos, not like this illusionary building. I'm not letting it touch you." The creature shuffled forward a little, as if curious.

"I wasn't exactly planning on petting it and taking it home as a playmate for Gwydion." There was a grumbling tone to Rupert's words; clearly, he was beginning to get annoyed. He moved out from behind Ethan's protection again.

"You don't even have a weapon! Rupert, please"

Rupert just pulled out his pen and said, " _Auram,_ " transforming it into a dagger; a dagger which promptly became a sword after a palpable surge of Rupert's magic.

Ian chuckled from where he stood, facing the creature behind them. "Best give in, boy. I think your Rupert has won this argument."

As Ethan glowered, the creature in front of them put its furry head to one side and whined softly at the sight of the sword. The one behind them repeated the noise. Despite his sulk, Ethan began to hurriedly knit his pattern to Rupert's as he had in the battle at the Estate.

' _That's the way,_ ' Rupert sent to him, even as he moved into a defensive position, holding his blade ready in front of him. ' _We're supposed to be fighting together._ '

Ethan didn't deny this, but, ' _I hate you being anywhere near Chaos, and you'd be the bloody same, Ripper, were things the other way round._ '

Rupert didn't get the chance to answer, however, as the creature opened its mouth and something, a very long tongue, shot out of it towards them both. Only to be met by Rupert's blade and a bright flash of Rupert's magic, leaving the tongue twitching on the ground.

The creature wailed, the stump of its severed tongue waggling angrily in its wide-open mouth, before it rolled itself up into a ball. Something was happening behind them, but Ethan didn't have time to check on Ian before their gremlin was rolling towards them at speed. "It's like being attacked by a kid's cartoon," he grumbled, building up a shield around them.

"I once thought my life couldn't get any more absurd," Rupert said, shifting to use his sword as a bat, swatting at the gremlin, sending it flying backward. "I stand corrected."

"Howzat!" Ethan said, not completely appropriately, but a cricket metaphor seemed called for. Their fuzzball hit the wall, unrolled, snarled at them and launched itself again, this time leaping with teeth and claws ready. "It's like the anti-Skunk."

Rupert swatted it away again. "Do you think you could come up with some way of getting rid of it? Or shall I just keep hitting it until it's in little pieces?"

"Er." Ethan improvised quickly. "May I have a smidgen of your magic?" He held out his hand to Rupert. Taking it, Rupert poured a steady stream of his magic into Ethan. "Enough!" Ethan withdrew his hand and tried something he'd never done before, but his recent secret activities had given him the basic method. Using a shell of his own magic, he created a capsule containing Rupert's condensed power. He then spoke encouragingly to the gremlin. "Hello, boy! Good boy! Got a treat for you here. Want a choccie?"

The creature growled and jumped, snatching the capsule out of Ethan's fingers and nearly taking his fingers with it.

Ethan watched it swallow and then saw it develop an almost comical expression as the capsule dissolved, releasing the Order magic. The creature had enough time to give Ethan a very reproachful glare before it disintegrated into a black cloud of particles, which swept away to nowhere in a non-existent wind.

They turned quickly to see to the other creature behind them, only to find a similarly dispersing cloud swirling around a rather smug looking Ian. "Well, that was... rather neo-Disney, actually," Ethan commented, wondering ever so slightly if he'd been knocked on the head and was actually dreaming.

"Never know what you're going to get with Chaos," Ian said. "You two did well, fighting together, merging your magics. You've both come a long way."

"I think the main threat there was laughing too hard to see the furball." Ethan shook his head. "I wonder if they have a mummy somewhere."

"Dear lord, I hope not," Rupert said, muttering " _Aquam_ ," under his breath and returning his blade to its pen shape. "This was disturbing enough."

"Chaos-bunnies," Ethan announced, feeling out with his senses to make sure there truly wasn't a mummy-bunny near by. "Well, at least they broke the tedium. That makes me feel positively warm towards them."

"Glad you were entertained." Rupert's tone was full of dry humour.


	3. Chapter 3

Giles had no way of telling how long they'd been walking. The maze had changed after the encounter with what Ethan had christened 'chaos-bunnies'. There were now corners and junctions, decisions to be made and options considered, but no matter which route they took, it led only to more identical corridors. His legs ached, and he tried to judge the time passed by this and the hunger he was starting to feel fairly strongly, but he wasn't sure how much the sensations truly meant.

They were approaching another right angle in the corridor when Ethan suddenly stopped, catching hold of Giles' jacket sleeve. "Wait. There's something around there."

Giles tried to stretch out with all of his senses, physical and magical, but was unable to sense anything definite, just a strong sense of danger. "More chaos-bunnies?" he asked, trusting Ethan's instincts when his own weren't sharp enough.

"Well, Chaos certainly. Raw and nasty, like the stuff that bastard threw at you." Ethan turned to Ian. "What do you think?"

Ian frowned, his eyes focusing distantly. "I think," he said slowly, "that we're going to have to find another way around. The Chaos is coating every surface. I might be able to make it through uncontaminated in crow form, but you two, especially Rupert..."

Giles suppressed a sigh at those last two words, of which he was beginning to become heartily tired.

Ethan pulled a face. "What's the betting that if we walk back the way we came, all the turnings we took to get to this place will be gone? We'll probably find ourselves back here after another useless hour of walking." He sighed. "It's too late to leave a trail of breadcrumbs anyway. So, we have a puzzle to solve. This feels like playing Tomb Raider, only without the implausible breasts."

"The implausible what?" Sometimes Ethan's conversation became as impenetrable as the Sunnydale children's had once been.

Ethan stared at him in obvious exasperation. "Dear God, Rupert, how do you manage to remain so steadfastly ignorant of pop culture? At least I assume it's pop culture you're ignorant of and not female anatomy as I clearly remember watching you handle some of the objects in question. Admittedly, a long time ago now..."

"Yes, well, all the breasts I did handle were extremely plausible."

"Do hold onto that memory, dearest, as I can assure you there'll be no more of the reality in your future." Ethan pouted artfully at Giles then moved ahead, cautiously approaching the corner.

"There's always that sex change spell from the same volume as the flying car," Giles pointed out, following Ethan to catch a glimpse at what they were facing.

Ethan stuck his hand out, blocking Giles' path. "Rupert, for God's sake, caution is not a dirty word!"

"I'm not doing anything you're not doing," Giles pointed out. His irritation at Ethan continuing to treat him like a defenceless child made his voice a little sharp.

"In case you've forgotten," Ethan said, glaring and showing more than a little irritation of his own, "this stuff melts you."

"It's not exactly healthy for you either."

"I don't fall apart. Literally. Go back to Ian." Ethan pursed his lips and looked mulish in the way that only he could.

Giles felt rather mulish himself, but gave in with an exasperated sigh. "We're going to be talking about this," he warned as he headed back to where he couldn't see or do anything.

"He'll concentrate better if he's not getting in a tiz over your safety," Ian murmured from where he was leaning against the wall.

"Makes me rather bloody useless though if I'm not allowed to even take a bloody look," Giles grumbled. Being treated like a child was certainly making him feel like one, a rather misbehaved, sulky one at that.

Ethan disappeared around the corner briefly, but was back again before Giles had a chance to worry. He returned to stand with them. "Right, strip both of you," he said, beginning to do so himself.

"Do you feel like enlightening us as to why?" Giles asked, not moving to undress yet, although Ian had begun to obey Ethan's demand unquestioningly.

"We're going through the air ducts," Ethan said, already leaning against the wall to pull his trousers off. "The Chaos extends up above the ceiling, but there's an empty, Chaos-free space between our ceiling and the floor above. I'm going to use the pen to draw an access vent. If we concentrate hard enough, that should create the air duct itself as well."

"A reasonable plan," Giles acknowledged. "However that fails to explain the need for nudity."

"I imagine," Ian commented, "that we're expected to put on cloaks of fur or feather now."

Ethan smiled appreciatively at Ian before saying slightly tersely to Giles, "There's only enough room for a narrow duct between the floors, and I'd prefer us as lightweight and quick-footed as possible."

"Oh." That certainly made sense, although it wouldn't have been Giles' first choice. Reluctantly, he began undressing.

"Have you considered the inadequacy of beak and small muzzle as opposed to hands?" Ian asked. Ethan frowned at him; clearly, he hadn't.

"Which brings up two problems," Giles said, laying out what they would need to solve. "Firstly, how to bring our clothes and other accoutrements with us, and secondly, how to draw ourselves an exit."

"I have rope," Ethan offered unexpectedly and drew out from his jacket a small coil of rope nearly thin enough to be considered string.

"I suppose we can make some kind of system to pull our things through," Giles allowed, which took care of one problem. The second one was going to take a bit more ingenuity. Remembering a documentary he'd seen on an artist who'd lost the use of his hands, Giles asked, "How do you feel about wearing a headband?"

"For the pen?" Ethan checked. "I can't say it sounds exactly like vulpine haute couture, but it could work. Rupert, I'm not happy that we won't be able to talk to Ian while we're changed. I know there are group telepathy spells; I don't suppose you know one?"

"I do, although I've never actually tried it." The technique had always been beyond his abilities, or so Giles had thought at the time. Looking at it now, and with the added experience the bond with Ethan had given him, he rather thought it wouldn't be difficult at all.

Ethan laid his jacket out and put everything of theirs bar the pen, rope, and their belts on top of it. "I can't say I'm happy about transporting the Key this way," he said. "Pity none of us have marsupial beast forms."

Giles shuddered at that rather disturbing thought. He wasn't all that comfortable with animal transformations as it was; having pockets would have been a bit much. "We make do with what we have."

Ian nodded. "The Key knows where it belongs," he said, gently adding it to the middle of the pile. "It's not going anywhere without us."

After cutting off a section of cord apparently with his fingernails –enchanted rope, clearly– Ethan trussed everything together in a long sausage inside his jacket, binding it with the rest of the rope and two of their belts. He looked at the loose end dubiously. "Fancy a harness, dear?" he asked Giles.

"I don't have much choice here, do I?"

Ethan's lips twitched. "Black leather would have been so much nicer." Ian chuckled at that, but Giles suppressed a frown, his irritation from earlier still affecting his mood. ' _Dearheart, don't?_ ' Ethan sent, looking at him with slight concern. ' _Be in a mood with me afterwards, not now. Now we need to be of one accord, surely._ '

' _Easier said than done._ ' Giles managed to keep his tone civil, just about. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ' _Look, this isn't the time for this argument; let's just get on with it for now._ '

Ethan didn't answer, and when Giles glanced at him, he saw only Ethan's back as he handed the rope and one of their belts to Ian. "Looks like it's you who gets to practice your bondage skills, dear crow," he said with a nasty edge to his voice, before turning back to Giles. "I suppose giving me a leg up to draw the vent would be beneath your grand heroic dignity."

Giles opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Really, what could he say that wouldn't make the situation worse? Instead, he mutely gave Ethan a boost up to draw their path. Ethan sketched quickly and then stepped down. Meeting Giles' eyes with a look bordering on insolent, he then linked his own fingers and bowed, offering his hands to Giles as a step.

Stepping up, Giles just as quickly imbued Ethan's drawing with his magic, and after the vent had become at least tangibly real, Giles opened it and let it hang on its hinges. He stepped back down, remaining silent.

Ethan didn't straighten; instead, he dropped to his hands and knees, twitched, and changed into the fox, releasing a strange cough-like noise as he did so. For a few moments, he stood panting, his head down, but then he shivered from his muzzle to the tip of his brush and trotted over to Ian without looking up at Giles once. Giles tried to repress another surge of irritation at Ethan's attitude; just because he refused to pretend he wasn't annoyed, Ethan was now acting like a sulky four year old. All right, granted, there might be a bit of sulking on his behalf as well, but why did he have to be the mature one all the time?

Ian, staying perhaps wisely quiet, carefully fabricated a head harness for Ethan from the rope, holding the pen to the side of Ethan fox's head, just below his ear. After Ethan had tried it out and managed to make a mark on the floor to Ian's satisfaction, they both turned to Giles.

"Better do that spell now," Ian suggested. "Before you lose the use of your hands."

"It's more of a knack than a spell, but..." Giles closed his eyes and went through the steps he had learnt from Willow to make the psychic connection with the older man. _'Ian?_ ' he asked, testing it out.

' _Interesting,_ ' Ian immediately sent back. ' _Lucy has linked to me in the past, among others, but this feels a little different. You there too, young fox?_ '

' _Yes,_ ' Ethan sent briskly. ' _Ready to change?_ ' He looked at Giles.

"As I'll ever be," Giles replied aloud, without much enthusiasm. This kind of giving over of control was not something he ever relished, especially with Ethan in this mood. But he didn't have time to think about it for long as there was a yank on his body, pulling him forward and down. He was looking at Ethan at the time and actually saw the vibrant reds seem to bleach out of the fox's fur. Then the world became a world of scent again, and this time, it smelled wrong.

Instinctively, Giles backed up, shaking his head as if to dislodge the wrong smell, sneezing when that didn't work. It wasn't just the smell; it was everything around him that was bad, off in a way that raised his hackles. Giles growled low in his throat, feeling the urges to fight and to flee both equally strongly.

Fox-Ethan trotted forward a few steps, coming close enough to sniff cautiously at Giles. ' _Rupert? Is something wrong?_ ' Everything was wrong; everything that is except Ethan, who smelled wonderfully, perfectly right in this world of wrongness.

Still growling at the very air that was putting him so much on edge, Giles moved closer to Ethan.

' _Dearheart, talk to me. Please._ ' A wet fox nose was moved along Giles' face and neck, investigating.

Giles turned his muzzle into Ethan's fur, breathing in more of the only right scent around him. ' _Bad,_ ' he managed.

' _Me?_ ' Ethan asked with alarm. ' _I'm bad?_ '

' _No. Everything else is._ '

' _Oh._ ' Ethan moved closer still and seemed to be trying to curl himself around Giles. ' _Even Ian?_ '

Giles didn't answer. Having Ethan around him helped steady him somewhat. If he concentrated on Ethan's scent and presence, he didn't feel like the entire world had turned inside out. He didn't want to willingly go beyond that.

' _Rupert?_ ' Ethan sent as he whimpered a little aloud. He pressed his nose into Giles' neck. ' _Please talk to me._ '

' _What..._ ' Giles took a deep breath and tried to order his thoughts. ' _Why is everything wrong?_ '

' _Because it's Chaos, illusions created from Chaos. We can sense it more acutely in this form, and it's anathema to you, dearest. I think..._ ' Ethan paused, but then continued on. ' _I think your subconscious remembers what Chaos did to you and is scared, and in these forms, we're closer to our instincts and subconscious urges._ '

Chaos. The word, the explanation, kicked Giles back into thinking instead of just reacting. ' _Right,_ ' he said, sharing his thoughts with Ethan. ' _We're surrounded by Chaos so of course it's going to smell... feel... be bad._ ' Lifting his head from Ethan's fur, he took a deep breath, fighting the urge to dive back in again. After a few such breaths, Giles began to relax ever so slightly.

' _This is going to be a problem, isn't it?_ ' Ethan sat down very close to Giles and panted. ' _We're going to have to pass right through an area of raw Chaos, like the stuff that hurt you. I may be able to shield you a little, but... your animal instincts are going to be screaming at you for attention._ '

' _Now that I know what it is, I can handle it,_ ' Giles said, although he wasn't as certain as he tried to sound.

' _Maybe I should wear the harness,_ ' Ethan suggested. ' _I don't want to add to any feelings of claustrophobia for you._ '

Giles shook his head, the gesture feeling odd in this body. ' _I can do this. You've got enough to concentrate on drawing by headband._ ' He forced himself to look up, extend his senses beyond the narrow focus of Ethan's presence, and found another point of non-wrongness in Ian's presence, which provided a further anchor for him.

Ethan was sticking very close, his sulk apparently forgotten. He pressed and rubbed his body all along Giles. ' _Let's be quick then, so you can be human again as soon as possible._ '

' _I won't argue with that._ ' But still, Giles made no move to pull away from Ethan so they could get on with it.

' _Ian, may I persuade you to come over here?_ ' Ethan asked after a few moments.

"Of course," Ian said, stepping over to them. Giles craned his neck up to look at the suddenly quite tall man until Ian knelt down closer to them. Ethan stayed reassuringly close as Ian looped the belt twice around Giles in a way that crossed the leather under his chest. It felt odd, unnatural, and when Ian fixed the end of the rope to the top of the makeshift harness, it pulled.

Ethan rubbed the side of his head against Giles, narrowly missing him with the pen. ' _How does that feel? Bearable?_ '

' _It feels.... strange_.' Giles chuckled, which came out in a series of clicks and little growls. ' _Guess that's to be expected. I'm a badger, not an ox._ '

' _I need to go first,_ ' Ethan said, ' _as I need to draw when we get to the other side, and Ian will bring up the rear as he has to lift us up there._ ' Which made perfect sense, although Giles couldn't help but notice he was being sandwiched between Ethan and Ian again. Given the situation, Giles couldn't really complain about it this time. Having those points of rightness surrounding him in the midst of all this wrong would definitely help.

' _Just means I get to watch your tail for a while,_ ' he deliberately joked.

Ethan panted, fox-grinning at Giles, which may not have been a real grin at all, but it certainly looked like one. ' _Are we all ready?_ '

' _I am_.' Giles looked up at Ian expectantly.

"Ready whenever you two are," Ian responded. "Shall I give you a hand up, my dear fox?"

Ethan nodded, which looked peculiar, but Ian seemed to understand. He lifted the fox body easily so that Ethan could scrabble up into the hole. He disappeared briefly, and then his head appeared, looking down. ' _The way looks clear, but we should hurry, I think._ '

Giles looked at Ian. ' _If you would be so kind to give me a boost...?_ ' Ian smiled and lifted Giles up until he was level with the opening. Ethan moved back out of the way, making room for Giles to scramble inside in a rather undignified fashion, with help from Ian's hand beneath his haunches.

The wrongness, the worst of it, was closer here; Giles could feel its menacing presence just ahead around the corner, making the fur along his spine stand up. Ethan backed his way in further to allow Giles to make room for the sausage of clothes that Ian was now poking through. Giles bit into it and tugged it up and along.

Ethan prodded Giles with his nose. ' _There better not be any tooth marks in my jacket. My coat's already ruined, remember?_ '

' _I'll buy you a new one when this is all over,_ ' Giles replied. ' _In fact, you can go on a full shopping spree if you want._ '

' _There's incentive,_ ' Ethan said, and Giles could tell he was smirking inside. There was a flutter of wings and a squawk, and Ian joined them in the narrow duct in his crow form.

Narrow the duct might have been, but if Giles didn't think about the corridor below them or the Chaos ahead, then the close quarters actually felt quite cosy. He snorted with amusement when he realised that was because in some ways it was much like a badger's set.

' _What did that noise mean?_ ' Ethan asked, sounding concerned. ' _Do you want a pause before we do this?_ '

 _'I'm fine,_ ' Giles assured. ' _Instincts work both ways. Did you know you were creating what amounts to an artificial badger burrow when you were drawing this?_ '

Ethan made a very strange noise, but Giles had heard it before and knew it was a chuckle. ' _Foxes and badgers often den together, so I read on the net. Okay...' He wiggled around in the narrow space and then there was a fluffy brush in Giles' face. ' _Let's go as quickly as we can._ '_

' _You lead, I will follow,_ ' Giles replied.

Clearly talking to Ian, Ethan added, ' _Come on, Captain Beaky, you too._ '

' _I resent the implication that I have any resemblance to a duck,_ ' Ian sent, his mental tone dry.

Happy for the distraction, Giles said, ' _I thought Captain Beaky was a chicken?_ '

' _Even worse!_ ' Ian declared.

' _Better than a goose,_ ' Ethan commented philosophically and trotted off.

Giles followed almost without thinking as his instincts told him to stay close to Ethan. The sausage of clothes was an annoying weight dragging behind him, the rope constantly getting caught under his paws. As they drew closer to the Chaos, all of his skin began to crawl as if his fur were alive with parasites. He couldn't help but growl constantly, deep and low in his throat, as he tried to ignore the way the Chaos was making him feel. He tried to narrow his focus down to two things, Ethan in front of him and putting one paw in front of the other to follow him.

' _Help me with this, mentor mine?_ ' Ethan asked as Giles felt a cocoon of Ethan's magic start to grow around him. A second later, he felt a similar if not quite as familiar magic surround him from behind; Giles looked over his shoulder to see what he swore was a crow grinning at him.

So effective was the blanket they'd covered him with that Giles was almost halfway though the Chaos before he really began to feel it again. Suddenly one of his rear legs ached ferociously, and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

' _Nearly through,_ ' Ethan sent. ' _Nearly there, dearheart._ '

Giles gritted his teeth and kept going, the growling he was unable to stop beginning to sound more like whimpers. It was all around him: darkness, death, nameless threat surrounding him, cutting off his escape routes, promising pain and terror and then oblivion.

' _Keep going, Rupert._ ' Ian's voice, firmly encouraging. ' _Can't stop now._ '

No, he couldn't. ' _Keep talking,_ ' he bade, doing everything he could to block out the sickly feel, the sibilant whispering that was trying to take him.

' _Just another few feet and we're clear,_ ' Ethan said immediately. He moved a little faster, forcing Giles to make his aching body move faster too or lose that vital closeness. ' _You're doing brilliantly._ '

' _You're doing just fine,_ ' Ian agreed. ' _Remember to breathe as you walk. Concentrate on that and on your Ethan. Leave the rest to us._ '

Yes. Breathing. That was definitely something he could focus on, counting his breaths as he followed his Ethan through this nightmare. He'd counted to twenty-five before the weight of menace began to lessen noticeably, but then, just as Giles really wanted to keep going to get clear, Ethan stopped.

' _Time for me to play artist again._ '

That meant that they were almost out of here. That was good. It also meant that until Ethan finished drawing their exit, there was nowhere to go; all Giles could do was stand where he was and wait. That was bad. Giles made another whimpering sound, acutely aware of the heart of Chaos that lay just behind them. Ethan whimpered too, perhaps in response, and Giles felt the magic cocoon around him strengthen, Ian's magic again mixing with Ethan's. Then there was a strange scraping noise that Giles didn't like at all, until he realised it was the noise of the pen on the floor of their tunnel.

' _Bugger,_ ' came from Ethan, followed by, ' _oh for fu–_ ' but finally the noise stopped, and Ethan walked further on again. ' _Make it real, Ripper. Only, um, don't stand on it when you do. Bolts, hinges or fixings were beyond me._ '

Giles moved forward, looking at the crude drawing that Ethan had managed. Starting at the far side, Giles ran a paw along the edge of the line, sending his magic through it. He finished up right in front of where he was standing, being careful that no part of his body was in the square at that time.

The magic worked, and the piece so outlined fell out, clattering on the floor below.

' _Make way for the one of us with wings,_ ' Ian announced. Moving as much to the side as he could, Giles let Ian waddle by, sneezing as the crow's feathers slid across his face. There was a slightly ungainly fluttering as Ian pretty much dropped out of the hole, but then almost immediately, human hands were reaching up, ready to catch Giles.

Giles shifted forward to the edge of the opening and then awkwardly launched himself through it to be caught and held securely in human hands. Ian clasped him close for a heartbeat or two as he manoeuvred the clothes parcel down to the floor. Then he knelt to set Giles on the ground. A moment later and Ian was setting Ethan down beside him.

' _Get the harness off him so I can change him back,_ ' Ethan sent urgently, biting at the belt that was wrapped around Giles as if intending to gnaw it off.

Ian, still knelt beside them both, somehow managed to push Ethan back and unbuckle the belt all in one swift motion. As soon as the harness fell to the floor, Giles sensed a surge of Ethan's power and felt himself changing, stretching and pulling until he was on his hands and knees, naked, and the Chaos-menace was like a strong wind beyond double glazed windows again rather than a hurricane raging all around him.

Ethan, still in fox form with the pen tied to his head, licked Giles' cheek.

"Thank you," Giles croaked, his voice feeling strange. He turned his head towards Ethan, sitting back and forcing fingers that still felt a little awkward to undo the pen and its headband. It took a while, but Ethan stood patiently, panting slightly, and as Giles eased the contraption from his head, Ethan began to change, sliding into human form and into Giles' arms in one smooth movement.

Giles closed his eyes and just held onto Ethan, letting his presence, his touch, soothe the last of his jangling nerves. Ethan made no move to pull away, kissing the side of Giles' face and stroking his hair and his back. "That was unpleasant," he understated dryly.

"Yes," Giles said in lame agreement. "I think I'm happier with my normal, dull human senses."

"We should get dressed and move further away," Ethan said, sensibly enough, although he didn't move.

"Sound thinking," came from Ian, and there was a series of noises Giles interpreted as the sausage of clothes being pulled across the floor and then untrussed. Giles held Ethan tighter for a moment. Then he forced himself to let go, turning towards where Ian was getting their clothes sorted out.

His attention was caught en route by the view back the way they had come. A whole stretch of the corridor was painted in dripping, tarry Chaos that made his vision distort and his stomach turn just to see it. It made a noise too, a very quiet white noise, but Giles was suddenly aware of the whisper of static he'd been hearing all this while without realising.

He was able to resist the urge to put his hands over his ears, but couldn't keep from giving a full body shudder.

"Nasty stuff," Ian commented as he handed Giles his clothing. "Dark Chaos with all the pretty veneer removed."

"I prefer it cute and fluffy," Ethan agreed. "Don't look at it, Ripper. Get dressed and come away now."

Ethan was still treating him like a child, but Giles couldn't find it in him to protest just then. Instead, he mutely obeyed, turning his back on the roiling mass of sticky darkness and stepping further down the corridor before stopping to put his clothes back on.

The other two dressed quickly also. In fact, by the time Giles had finished rebuckling his belt with shaking fingers, Ian and Ethan were already fully dressed and muttering close together against the other wall, which in the circumstances made Giles feel all the more the odd man out. He shoved that feeling down as best he could and said, "Shall we be on our way?"

They both looked at him, and Ethan walked over and took his hand, squeezing it. "Yes, let's."

"We think a rest might be called for shortly, Rupert," Ian said. "When we're far enough away from this unpleasantness."

"Do I look that bad?" Giles asked dryly, although he didn't argue with their plan. What good would it do him, after all?

"Oh, it's for my benefit, dear boy," Ian answered breezily. "I am somewhat older than you two, after all." Giles looked at Ian, who appeared as fresh as he had when they'd first started, and couldn't keep from snorting in disbelief.

Ethan glanced at Giles, looking very much as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't. Giles realised suddenly that the telepathic link he'd made to Ian was still in effect, so maybe that was why. Before he had a chance to comment on that, however, they turned a corner.

"A door!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Lots of doors," Ian added drolly.

Indeed, this corridor was lined with doors, one every several feet or so. "From famine to feast," Giles remarked. "This could take some time."


	4. Chapter 4

Twenty-five doors down the line, it had become clear –to Ethan, at least– that nothing really had changed. Each door led to an empty grey box of a room, some of which had a second door in them, but if so, it only opened into another endless corridor of doors.

Ethan slumped against the wall of their latest room and folded his arms. He was quite extraordinarily weary. The power he had used during the morning's ritual had been intense, and what with keeping Rupert safe, whether the stubborn bugger wanted to be or not, and with constantly having to boost the magical membrane around his cache of Dawn's pattern, Ethan wasn't getting any opportunity to restore his batteries.

Not only that but he was hungry, thirsty, stressed about Rupert, rapidly going mad for the lack of colour and variety in this unreal world they were exploring, and his legs ached. He'd had enough. "Somewhere an unfortunate camel has just found itself suddenly paraplegic," he announced. He could almost hear the poor creature's spine snap.

"Perhaps it's time for that rest you mentioned," Giles suggested, seeming less resistant to the idea now. "A chance to sit and regroup, see if we can come up with some more effective way of crossing through this labyrinth."

Ethan let himself slip down the wall until he was sat leaning against it, his legs folded almost against his chest. He wrapped his arms around them and rested his chin dolefully on his knees. "Do you think if I draw us a three-course meal it will just taste of cardboard?" Or rather floorboard, as there wasn't much else to draw on.

Rupert sat down beside Ethan and pulled out the pen. "One way to find out," he said, offering it.

"Might want to draw us something to drink as well," Ian advised, settling down on Ethan's other side.

"Oh, I intend to, believe me, but let's see if this works to start with." Ethan uncurled himself and drew what he currently wanted most of all things directly onto the floor – two narrowly concentric circles and the space within them filled with wavy lines, and added on impulse, a blocky cube. He looked beseechingly at Rupert. "Oh, please make it real, dear-to-my-heart."

Rupert looked at the drawing for a moment and then reached out a finger and trailed it along the edges.

Ethan watched the shimmer that accompanied the drawing's solidification and nodded. It still looked like a scruffy ink drawing on dull wood, for all that it was now sitting on top of the floor, solidly 3d. However, Ethan put his hand around it and felt cold glass. Shutting his eyes, he lifted it to his lips and tipped, almost swooning with delight when he tasted good malt whisky, chilled by a cube of ice that bopped against his upper lip. "Bliss," he murmured.

"Is it?" Ian asked. "Come now, my boy, share the wealth in that case."

"Mine," Ethan answered succinctly, before tipping back the rest of glass' contents. He sighed happily, eyes still shut. The whisky was real. His eyes told him otherwise, but his body and his pattern senses confirmed it.

"You are going to draw more sustenance for everyone, correct?" Rupert asked in a leading tone.

"Providing there's ink left in the pen. I suppose I'd better draw large things so that we can carry with us what we don't eat." Ethan pursed his lips as he thought and then drew his version of a giant-sized bottle of spring water, a roast turkey, a large bunch of bananas, a bulk bar of Cadburys, and some bread and cheese. As the pen was still writing, he added a sizeable bottle of Glenfiddich, even going so far as writing the name on the label.

"Transubstantiating Glenfiddich seems almost like sacrilege," Rupert murmured as he added his magic to the drawings.

"It's a miracle, dear," Ethan told him. "And no mere bread and fish for us. We're a better class of messiah."

"Let's hope we come to a better end as well," Ian said as he reached out and took one of the drawn bananas.

"Close your eyes, crow," Ethan advised, ignoring where Ian's words wanted to take him. "It helps." Obeying his own instruction, he put his hands on the turkey, dug his fingers into warm, cooked breast meat, and ripped a hunk off. It tasted quite wonderful, moist and savoury.

There was silence for a while as all three of them concentrated on eating and drinking with the single-mindedness of the ravenous. Finally, Rupert sat back with a replete sigh, holding the bottle of malt and taking a large swallow. "Much better," he said, handing the bottle on to Ethan. After a swig and a few moments to enjoy the smooth burn, Ethan smiled beatifically at Rupert. He was feeling so much better now, positively mellow. "Come here and kiss me," he demanded lazily.

Rupert seemed obliging, but as he leant in to kiss Ethan, Ian reached over and plucked the bottle from Ethan's hand. "You won't be needing this then."

Ethan had a sudden and pleasant sense of deja vu. He let the bottle go without complaint and pushed the fingers of his now empty hand into Rupert's hair, holding him there for a long, luxurious kiss, after which, he sighed contentedly.

Rupert shifted position so that he and Ethan were leaning against each other, running one hand lightly over Ethan's shoulder in idle patterns. "I suppose we should also see about getting some sleep."

"I strongly doubt I've enough ink left for a mattress. That sounds like your kind of magic though, dearheart. You've always been a genius at providing that touch of physical comfort, be it warm air, a lack of excess water, or anything else we need."

"Outside, perhaps. Aside from priming your drawings, I've been rather useless in this godforsaken place."

Ah, and here it came. Ethan realised he'd been stupid to think they had moved on from the tension earlier. He pulled away from Rupert and leant back against the wall. "What you actually mean is, I assume, you haven't yet had a good opportunity to play hero. God knows how you managed all those years hiding behind the Slayer."

Rupert bristled at that and opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Instead, he got up and walked to the other side of the room, his entire body radiating tension.

Ignoring a pang of insecurity, Ethan looked sourly at Rupert's back. "Or is it just me you need to feel better than?"

"What I need is to be somewhere I can carry my own bloody weight and not be just a bloody burden slowing everything down," Rupert shot back, spinning around to face Ethan, eyes blazing.

It wasn't at all easy, but Ethan met Rupert's gaze evenly. Well, maybe not evenly, but he didn't look away. "You are not a burden."

"Well, I haven't been much use, have I?" Rupert spat and began pacing, a sure sign of how agitated he was. "Might as well have been hiding behind a Slayer..."

Ethan took a deep breath, and as he was no longer being glared at, shut his eyes again. "Since we have been stuck in this hell of tedium, you have provided the magic to make crappy ink lines into useful reality. You've played cricket with a chaos-bunny and provided the magic that allowed me to destroy it. You've provided much needed leadership for this ragtag threesome, and most importantly of all, you've stopped me going insane. In short, you've been vital. Now stop being such a stupid arse and come and sit down."

After a long moment, Rupert did so, but seemed in no better spirits.

Ethan sighed heavily. "Rupert, you can't... Look, this is just like after the big fight at the Estate wherein you were the big sword-wielding hero, Ian was playing blinding strokes, our girls were doing what they do best, and all I could manage was some lacklustre back up. Remind me what you said to me then?"

Rupert shook his head. "Different situation," he argued.

"Indeed it is," Ian put in, having listened quietly to the discussion up to this point. "Not many people have survived the sort of Chaos attack that you have, and that's going to leave you far more vulnerable to its effects than a couple of reformed acolytes are. Facing it is bound to leave you shaken. The fact that you did face it at all speaks well of your abilities and of how stubborn you are." Ian smiled at Rupert. "But there's no shame in needing and asking for help. You're far too intelligent a man to think there is."

Oh, thank the various deities for Ian. Ethan wanted to hug his old mentor, but realised that wouldn't be all that sensible currently as Rupert was liable to take it as siding against him. It was time to be a good boy himself and apologise for his bitchiness. "Sorry I accused you of glory-hounding, Ripper. I know –really, I know– that's not you." He dared to look up and give Rupert a sheepish smile.

Rupert sighed, and Ethan could practically see the tension leaving his body. "That last encounter may have rattled me more than I'd like to admit," he offered Ethan, an apology maybe. Ethan would take it as one anyway. Bad temper between them was never pleasant, but while they were in this godawful place, it was almost unbearable.

He stretched out his legs again and allowed one to rub against Rupert's. "So, going to make us a king size airbed?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to settle for bundled jackets and me," Rupert replied, but there was a touch of humour back in his voice that helped Ethan relax further.

Ethan was certain that, were Rupert feeling more confident, he'd be able to improvise a spell that partially solidified the air near the floor, making it into something soft to lie on, but he felt pushing it on any matter currently was unwise. "I imagine we'll need to take turns on watch."

"I'll take first turn at that," Ian said, moving to sit facing out the open doorway and taking the whisky with him.

Ian probably was the least tired of them, so it made sense. Ethan nodded and held his arms out to Rupert. "Come here then, dear. Let's get settled." Rupert came willingly, and it only took a few moments for them to find the most comfortable position for sleeping together. Ethan suspected that it was rather more comfortable for him, seeing as he was half-lying on top of Rupert, but he decided it wasn't worth mentioning, all things considered. "Close your psychic ears, m'lord crow," Ethan said, nuzzling against Rupert's neck. "Or at least pretend to for Rupert's sake. I'm about to talk dirty."

"Now do I look like the type who would eavesdrop?" Ian asked with an admirable attempt at innocence.

"Yes," Rupert replied. "But I'll pretend otherwise."

' _I suppose some physical comforting is out of the question?_ ' Ethan sent, while nibbling on Rupert's earlobe. ' _I'm sure it would do us both good. Relax us and soothe the stresses of the day._ '

' _Always the exhibitionist,_ ' Rupert teased back, which Ethan noted wasn't a refusal.

' _I'm sure Ian will claim to be looking the other way._ ' Ethan stroked a hand trailing a little magic down Rupert's chest and burrowed it under clothing. This was possibly foolhardy, but on the other hand, their bond had been strained by the events so far, and a little bit of sexual healing might be just what the doctor ordered. Well, some doctor, somewhere, even if it took a hefty bribe.

' _Not very fair though, is it?_ ' But even as Rupert protested, he made no move to stop Ethan.

' _Well, we could always invite him to join in, dear. Cast wards first, of course._ '

Rupert ran a hand down Ethan's spine. ' _Do you really think this is the place for that?_ '

He'll be gone soon, Ethan thought to himself; it's this place or none at all, but he didn't say it either aloud or mentally. That wasn't something he wanted to risk Ian hearing. He couldn't think of another answer for Rupert, however, so he just moved more over him in order to kiss him.

Rupert kissed him back, sliding a hand to the back of Ethan's neck, holding him in place. ' _I don't think I'm, ah, up to full shagging, but this is nice._ '

Ethan tried not to feel too disappointed, but it was hard. _He_ was hard, and it seemed nothing was going to be done about that. It had always been this way, of course. When things became stressful, Ripper's response had always been to withdraw into himself and stew in his own thoughts, and Ethan's had always been to seek out something intense that would stop him doing exactly that. ' _It might do you good, dearheart,_ ' he tried, hoping he kept anything whine-like out of his mental tone.

' _Would it?_ ' Rupert asked, humour lacing his thoughts as he kissed Ethan again.

' _Yes, it might._ ' Ethan squirmed slowly half on top of Rupert, making sure his knee was rubbing where it mattered most. ' _And in all seriousness, it would surely do us good. When everything seems to hinge on our bond, I can't help but feel a trifle perturbed when we squabble._ '

Rupert's hands dropped to Ethan's waist, whether to hold him close or just to stop him squirming, Ethan wasn't sure. ' _You know even when we argue, my feelings don't change._ '

' _Yes, I know,_ ' and at that moment, he truly did, _'but surface irritation could effect the ease with which we work together, which in a hellish place like this could be disastrous._ ' Ethan pulled back and grinned down at Rupert. ' _So see sex as lube, dear, easing the motion of the bond_.'

From the other side of the room there came a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh. Ethan rolled his eyes; Ian could have made a little more of an attempt to pretend. He winked at Rupert. ' _Pay no attention to the rangy old bird behind the curtain._ '

Rupert was looking up at him with such amused affection that Ethan wanted to bask in it. ' _It still amazes me how much I love you._ '

' _Why?_ ' Ethan teased, while nonetheless revelling in the words. ' _Do you consider it to be in extraordinarily bad taste?'_

' _Actually,_ ' Rupert licked at Ethan's lips, ' _you taste rather good._ '

Oh, and really, how was he meant to resist all this? Clearly, Rupert just wanted to be seduced. The grip on Ethan's hips had eased, so he made the most of that to slip free, moving right over Rupert to straddle him. Ethan grinned down, wriggled in a way that felt just right, to him, at least. Then he dropped down to kiss Rupert deeply.

Rupert kissed him back just as deeply, his hands once again sliding down Ethan's back in a light caress. Rupert was as hard as Ethan was, and things were looking a lot more promising. Ethan allowed some magic to enter their kiss as he rubbed their over-dressed cocks against each other. He reached out for Rupert's arousal patterns and tweaked, ever so slightly, just to rev things up a little.

Rupert responded by his hands clamping down on Ethan's arms hard enough to leave bruises and then rolling them over. Oh yes, this was what Ethan wanted all right. He gave Rupert a fierce smile as their mouths parted briefly, and he squirmed beneath him, moving his hands down to cup Rupert's arse. ' _Need you so badly, Ripper,_ ' he sent, partially because Rupert had felt un-needed earlier, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.

' _Always have to push things, don't you?_ ' Not that Rupert seemed to be too unhappy about the pushing, judging by the way he was thrusting his hips against Ethan.

' _I can't help needing you. It's an intrinsic part of who I am._ ' Ethan arched up against Rupert. ' _And anyway, stop complaining and do that some more, preferably without trousers on._ '

' _You think I'm going to give in that easily?_ ' And the grin Rupert gave Ethan then was entirely Ripperish.

' _Oh, I see._ ' Well, this could be fun. Ethan twisted Rupert's patterns a little more firmly, making him far more aware of all his skin, especially in certain key areas. ' _Do remember, won't you, when you do finally give in, that we have no spare clothes._ '

Rupert growled and leant down to kiss him fiercely. ' _You're far too certain of yourself._ ' That was all the warning Ethan got before he felt Rupert's magic firmly encircling the base of his cock.

Ethan froze. He'd thought they'd come to an understanding about doing this. He'd thought Rupert had understood how much he hated it. Maybe Rupert had and was just working through anger at Ethan, but either way, having this done to him in front of Ian was too much. He let his arms drop to the floor and stopped moving. ' _All right,_ ' he sent with as little emotion as he could manage, ' _You win. No shagging._ '

Immediately the magic constricting him disappeared, and Rupert's whole demeanour went from wolfish to concerned. ' _That wasn't exactly the reaction I was aiming at._ '

' _Wasn't it? Consider the last time you did it._ ' Rupert was still lying on top of him, so all Ethan could turn away was his head.

' _You usually try to talk me out of it, but you do that with a lot of these types of play._ ' Rupert's fingers brushed against his cheek trying to get him to look back.

Obviously Ethan hadn't made his absolute hatred of the ring clear enough after all, and now everything was spoilt. He wrapped his arms back around Rupert and sent wearily, ' _Let's go to sleep, dear._ '

' _No._ ' Rupert rolled them back over so that Ethan was cradled against his body. ' _Not when you're wearing that look on your face_.'

' _I'm all right, just hold me. You were right about this being unfair to Ian anyway. Will you let me tweak you to help you relax?_ '

Rupert dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead. ' _If you'll talk to me about what's bothering you_.'

' _Only the obvious. Nothing deep happening here, I'm afraid. I'm as shallow as ever._ ' It was one thing being an exhibitionist during sex, but talking about emotions to more than one person at a time, even the two men he was closest to, was too much of a challenge.

' _Shallow? Ethan, you're one of the deepest, most complicated people I've ever known._ '

Ethan laughed quietly. ' _I'm upset because I spoiled the sex, Rupert._ '

Rupert was silent for a moment, hands moving in small comforting circles on Ethan's back. ' _I think that was more a team effort._ '

' _I know you feel it shouldn't, but it means rather a lot to me. Us shagging, I mean. More than it should._ ' He nestled closer against Rupert, mouthing softly against his neck.

' _It means quite a bit to me as well._ ' Rupert brought a hand up to comb through Ethan's hair.

' _When we have sex, it means everything's right with the world. Nothing terrible can happen while we're still shagging._ ' Ethan chuckled bitterly at himself, knowing he was voicing childishly simplistic concepts. ' _That seems to be what my messed up psyche thinks anyway._ '

' _It feels sometimes as if you think that if I'm not shagging you, I don't love you,_ ' Rupert sent softly, his hands never stopping their soothing caresses of Ethan's body.

They'd touched on this subject a few days ago in the shower, and Ethan didn't have much more in the way of an answer now. ' _It's easier to believe you do when you are, but it's not just about that. It's a more general, more universal thing. If you are fucking me, then there is a God, the good guys –i.e. us– will win, and that generic 'everything' will come out right in the end. Ipso Facto._ '

Rupert chuckled, not unkindly. ' _Never knew my sexual prowess was so... wide ranging and powerful._ '

' _Well, now you do. And from now on, only metal cock rings? Please, dearheart_.' Ethan kissed and nuzzled Rupert encouragingly.

' _Only steel, _' Rupert promised. ' _Or possibly silk._ '__

***

A hard floor and a brain that just couldn't stop thinking over the puzzle that they were trapped within ensured that Giles didn't get much rest. Finally giving in to the fact that he wasn't going to get any more, Giles carefully slipped out from under Ethan and walked over to where Ian was sitting.

"I'll take over the watch," he said quietly to the older man. "No use both of us losing sleep."

Ian rubbed a hand over his mouth before answering. "Not much of a sleeper myself, although I may try in a little while." He looked over at Ethan, who was snoring softly. "Don't want our fox to get cold, do we?"

Giles followed his gaze, a fond smile touching his lips as he did so. "Ethan has always been able to sleep anywhere in any conditions."

"But you're more prone to feeling the pea than the mattress?"

He shrugged. "It's difficult for me to turn the brain off sometimes."

Ian harrumphed softly. "I'm sure Ethan would have obliged, if you'd asked. It's just a matter of a few key twists."

"I'm used to it," Giles said with another shrug and a faint smile, in no way revealing that the idea of Ethan twisting his pattern like that still gave him just a bit of unease.

Ian picked up the half-eaten bar of Cadburys from his side, broke a piece off, and passed the bar on to Giles. "There are times when we all have to let go of the tiller and let the river's currents take us where they will."

"I've never found it to be an easy thing to let others steer for me," Giles admitted, breaking off his own piece of chocolate.

"It's a valuable skill. You might find it worth learning one day." Ian stared out into the corridor. "Although from what Ethan tells me, seems like maybe you've started already."

"Ethan tells you a lot, does he?" Giles wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what Ethan had been saying. Despite the fact that they'd certainly both shared much more than words with Ian, Giles found there were some things he was still reserved about sharing.

Ian turned briefly and winked at Giles. "Don't worry. It'll go to the grave with me." He felt in his coat pocket. "At the risk of introducing unlooked for intimacy, would you care to share some herbal relaxation with me before I take some rest?"

Giles chuckled at the offer; only Ian would have packed a joint or two with him when going into battle. "Why not?" he answered. "Considering the surreality of this place, it may even make it more comprehensible."

Out came the little plastic ziplock bag. Ian liberated one of his thin ready-made joints and lit it with a Swan Vesta, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply. He passed it over to Giles. "Derek had a few problems letting go of the tiller too," he commented casually.

"Did he?" Giles asked, taking a good hit off the joint before passing it back. It occurred to him that this was the first time Ian had ever spoken of Derek directly to him. After their threesome, Ethan had persuaded Ian to share many tales of his past, but without Ethan there to ease the connection, Ian and Giles had remained somewhat reserved with each other.

"Order likes to be in charge too much, I suspect." Ian savoured more smoke before continuing. "Derek would always discuss any big decision with me first, of course. Thing was, he'd keep discussing it, for days if necessary, until I..." He chuckled. "Saw the light."

"Did that method work for him?"

"Usually." Ian flicked a smile at Giles. "Back then, pleasing him was what mattered. No matter how bloody stupid he was being."

"I think we all must go through phases like that," Giles mused, thinking back on how he'd let Ethan talk him into summoning Eyghon.

"We learn best by getting our fingers burnt. Trick is, not losing the fingers in the process." Ian watched Giles take another hit, still smiling in that slight way of his. "You're like him in other ways too."

"This is where you say things that make me blush?" Giles asked as that smile on Ethan was generally accompanied by naughty suggestions.

The smile blossomed into a full grin. "Now there's a challenge."

Giles returned the smile then took another deep hit. "You probably would have found a blush easier to achieve if you hadn't already pulled out the dope."

Ian chuckled. "I was only going to say that you have some of his fire too. It's deeper under the surface with you, takes a lot more delving for anyone not Ethan to find it, but maybe it wasn't always that way?" Ian leant back against the doorframe as he took what was left of the small joint back. "Harriet had something of it too."

The mention of his grandmother brought a nostalgic smile to Giles' face. "She was always something approaching the family's black sheep, at least until I came along. I understand she was quite wild in her youth." He glanced over at Ian. "Meeting you affected her greatly."

Ian looked down. "Keri informed me that I had to meet her as I was an important catalyst in her story. At the time, I wasn't precisely keen."

Giles had never known Ian to be so forthcoming, not even with Ethan there to pry out the confidences. He wondered if the forthrightness had anything to do with Ian's premonition of death. Still, he wasn't above taking advantage of it. "How long after you lost Derek was that?"

Shrugging, Ian said, "Quite a few years. Not something you can get over in a hurry, no matter how many bossy witches you have helping you. Hold onto your Ethan, Rupert, with everything you have and come what may."

Giles looked over at Ethan, who had curled in on himself in his sleep since Giles had moved away. "I intend to. I don't think I could let him go now if I tried."

"It would kill you both," Ian said bluntly. "Your patterns are so linked now that you could not survive their severing. To have reached this far, you're a unique pair, you know."

"That's rather refreshing to hear, considering everyone and his prophecy keeps telling us how we're just the latest in a series." Giles shook his head, not sure which he found more appealing. "We've been lucky."

"Very little that happens to any of us is truly random," Ian said with a snort, "and as far as you and your Ethan are concerned, I'm far from sure any of it is. That's the thing with changing from Chaos to pattern magic, you see. You find out that what looked like random disorder is actually a complex network of cause and effect, warp and weft. There is no true Chaos, not in the natural world."

This was as good an opening as any for Giles to be able to venture, "Ethan says you don't think you're going to survive."

Ian smiled. "I'll be back with my Derek soon, yes."

There was a peace and satisfaction Ian's eyes that Giles wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. "You really see it that way, don't you? As a reunion, not an ending."

"You would too, in my position." Ian nodded. "My poor Derek. He's been waiting a very long time."

"You never thought of... joining him sooner?"

"There was a time I hardly stopped thinking about it." Ian patted Giles' knee. "But I had a job to do, and I don't regret the delay. I'd hate to have missed meeting you two."

"Likewise." Giles smiled. "There are very few people with whom Ethan and I would consider passing a night in the old nursery."

"That was some night, that was." Ian grinned. "It was an honour to share with you both."

"It was indeed. Ethan and I used to... share, back in the day, but that was different."

"The young fox makes a very effective splice." Ian seemed to be studying Giles quite closely. "You taste so like him, you know, like Derek. Not identical, but when it has been so long..."

"That's why you avoided me before Ethan and I found each other again," Giles said, remembering what Ethan had shared about the distance Ian had seemed determined to keep between them when Giles had visited the Coven alone. "Because it would have been too easy for us to be drawn together."

"For me, at least." Ian nodded. "I like to think I have quite good self control these days, but there are limits."

"I can see how something could have happened." Giles thought back to his own emotional state during his various visits to Devon; nearly every time he'd been mourning a loss and feeling his aloneness acutely. "You have as much of Ethan in you as I must have of Derek in me."

"Any connection between us at that point would have been rank stupidity." Ian snorted softly and pulled his limbs in closer to himself. "Had I known then what I know now about how you taste, how you feel, I'm not sure even understanding why it was wrong would have stopped me."

"Sometimes ignorance can be bliss," Giles commented, not quite sure what else to say. "Or, at least, a necessity."

Ian was silent for a while, his thoughts apparently elsewhere. Then he exhaled wearily and slowly drew himself to his feet. "Do you mind if I snuggle up to your lover? He's a very companionable presence, even when unconscious."

"He is at that," Giles agreed, casting another fond smile at his Ethan's sleeping form. "Go ahead. As you said, we don't want our fox to get cold."

Ian smiled and clasped a hand to Giles' shoulder briefly before walking over to where Ethan lay and spooning himself behind his fellow pattern mage.


	5. Chapter 5

Ethan was not at his shining best. While he had slept quite soundly and woken to the unexpected pleasure of Ian curled tightly behind him, his body had been saving up a thing or two over the night to tell him about why men his age should not attempt to sleep on bare floorboards.

Adding to a stiffness that made him feel unpleasantly old was concern about the little data storehouse secreted just below his ribs. The area was hot to the touch now and frequently shot bolts of burning discomfort through his torso. Upon waking, he'd been happy enough with his magical protection around the cache, which had remained sturdy despite the hours he couldn't attend to it. Then he'd realised that the most recent magical touch to boost its power had not been his own. Ian had been sleeping with his hand above it for a reason, it seemed.

The day hadn't been improved by a near silent breakfast of rather dry turkey and over-ripe bananas. Rupert hadn't let him waste the ink on making a pot of strong coffee for them all. A mistake, Ethan hadn't hesitated to tell him. Then the pointless walking began again, which his legs had been decidedly unhappy about. They still were, in fact.

The two encounters with increasingly large and more lethal chaos-bunnies hadn't improved anyone's temper either, for all that they'd despatched the manifestations with no injuries beyond a couple of scratches. The fact was, especially during the last encounter, they'd been lucky, and all three of them knew it.

As they began to climb yet another flight of stairs –oh yes, the maze had been obliging enough to provide them with another exciting upgrade– Ethan sighed loudly, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "This place gives futile a bad name. Really."

"I'm open to suggestions for a different course of action," Rupert replied, an edge marring the patient tone of his voice. It seemed that Ethan wasn't the only one getting frustrated.

"Sit down and let it come to us?" Ethan stopped halfway up the flight of stairs, forcing the other two to pause to listen to him. "Have you considered that the encounters, the changes in maze layout, may be dependant on time, not distance travelled? Or if it is distance, then the maze-masters are clearly trying to exhaust us before we ever reach anywhere that matters, and I can't see why we should oblige them by walking their sodding treadmill. None of this is real. Let's burn it away and see what's underneath the illusion!"

"If it is dependent on time, then why didn't anything happen when we stopped to sleep earlier?" Rupert pointed out with calm logic. "Besides, it's the height of foolishness to burn down a structure you're in the middle of."

As he had no answer to that, Ethan ignored it. "I'm not a laboratory rat, Rupert, and I refuse to behave like one any longer."

Rupert spread his hands in a 'fine' gesture. "What are you planning on doing instead?"

Planning wasn't a strictly accurate word, but... "Play a new game. Our rules."

"What kind of game?" That was from Ian, looking happily interested.

"Show them we know random better than they ever will?" Ethan suggested with little consideration; the impulse was enough. "Whatever they want us to do, don't do it. Do the opposite, or better still, something completely unconnected and confusing."

Rupert frowned. "I don't see how that could possibly be productive."

Ethan looked at him sourly, folding his arms. "It could hardly be less productive, and it would most certainly be more fun."

"Yes, because of course the reason we're here is to have fun."

"It doesn't hurt to enjoy what you're doing," Ian put in. "Or to stir things up a little. Let them know we're here."

"The whole point of this is to get to where we're going without them knowing we're here," Giles reminded, speaking in slow even tones.

"Oh, was there a declaration of intention that I somehow missed before you fell through the rabbit hole?" Ethan asked sarcastically. "If I'd known, I could have burst your rather stolid bubble many hours ago. Of course they know we're here."

"We don't need to draw extra attention to ourselves," Rupert continued doggedly. "It's possible that they may lose track of our exact position if we don't do the equivalent of jumping up and down and yelling 'Here we are!'"

Rupert was being so infuriatingly blind that Ethan wasn't sure he even cared that the tension was back between them. "You're making the mistake of perceiving this place as something real. This," he waved his hand around airily, "has no material reality. It is not a building, however much it looks to your basic senses to be one. It's just a big ball of malleable Chaos and air. We're inside the belly of the whale, my dear, and the whale can feel us tickling."

"Yes, we're in a big ball of Chaos as you put it, which gives us even more need for an orderly, well thought out strategy. Anything else is just feeding into its plan."

"And that is exactly where you prove you are talking through your admittedly fine but not so perceptive arse, dearheart. Chaos, as Ian will confirm, does not 'plan'."

"Here, here," Ian agreed. "Planning is anathema."

Ethan flicked Ian a smile of appreciation; at least he could count on someone here to see sense. "Chaos has no plan; it will merely adapt to our plans. So our only answer is to have none either. Act on impulse and erratic, illogical impulse at that, so we can't be second-guessed."

"And we can't get to our goal either," Rupert insisted. "A plan, a knowing course of action gives you footing, a foundation to lean against when faced with obstacles."

"Sometimes your Watcherly credentials just shine out, don't they, dear?" Really, the man was being almost a parody of himself with all this talk of thorough consideration and planning, as if any such thing were possible here.

Ian, clearly having little further interest in the discussion, sat down on the top step and pulled their floorboard bottle of whisky from their makeshift pack. Ethan looked at it longingly, hoping Ian wouldn't drink the little that was left as there was no way Rupert would allow them to use ink up on another bottle. Ethan grew further alarmed when Ian set about doing just what he'd feared, judging by the angle his old mentor was holding the bottle to his lips.

"Soused crow," Ethan said sourly. "Now there's a treat."

"If you two are going to stand here arguing, I have to do something to occupy myself," Ian replied and tilted his head back all the way to catch the last drops of the whisky.

Ethan scowled at Ian for a few seconds more, but then decided action was the better part of reaction. He schooled his expression and moved closer to Rupert. "I'm tired, dearheart, but all right, let's plan if you want to." He put sincerity into his tone and posture and gently tweaked Rupert's patterns to force him to release some of that tension he was holding in his clenched muscles.

"Well, I suppose a rest isn't out of the question," Rupert grudgingly allowed.

Ethan took Rupert's hands and tugged him up to the top of the stairs where Ian was now eating the last of the chocolate as well without offering it around. Pulling Rupert down to sit, Ethan then snuggled close, wrapping his arms around under Rupert's jacket. "So, strategy then?" he said pleasantly.

Rupert seemed to relax into Ethan's embrace as he began. "Yes. We need to plot out our attack and discuss the best way to choose our route through this damnable–" Abruptly he broke off, his hand clamping hard on Ethan's wrist just as Ethan had managed to get his fingers around the pen. "Do you take me for a blind fool?"

Bugger it. "Well, you have to admit you've been doing a damn good impression of one," Ethan said with what he thought of as a sweet smile as he tried to free his wrist. "It would hardly be surprising if I did."

Rupert's grip tightened to the point that it was difficult for Ethan not to wince. "You're acting like a wilful child."

"And you, dearest, are acting just like a starched Watcher. Going to thrash me, are you? That'll be fun; it's been a while."

"Yes, go ahead, thrash him," Ian encouraged. He'd pulled out a joint from somewhere and was now lighting it. "Just what I could use right now, a show."

"You git!" Ethan twisted around to stare at Ian in outrage. "You're meant to be on my side. Instead, you're hogging all the good stuff and forcing me into a position where the wannabe headmaster here feels compelled to prove he's the boss." He turned back to Rupert. "Thrash Ian. He's the one who deserves it."

Rupert hadn't let go of Ethan, but now he was frowning in Ian's direction. Or maybe it was just a more generalised frown because it remained in place when he glanced back at Ethan. "Something's not right here."

"Quite. The old bastard drank all my Glenfiddich!" Ethan had a sudden inspiration. "Perhaps you could punish him in an amusing way. I can think of a certain ring of magic that would do him a world of edification."

"No." Rupert shook his head. "There's something wrong with this whole situation, with us, the way we're acting."

If Rupert hadn't said 'us', Ethan would have dismissed his words immediately as more of his 'I'm right and you're both wrong' hectoring, but the 'us' and the 'we' caught Ethan's attention. Rupert was including himself in the accusation and therefore... Christ, Rupert was right. Ian and Ethan were thinking only about their own immediate needs, and Rupert was doing his best tin-pot dictator impression, which hadn't been him for a very long time now.

Ethan clenched his eyes tightly shut and tried to think, which currently wasn't easy. The pain from his imprisoned wrist helped a little, however, so he concentrated on that. "Trap?" he managed. "Proximity?"

"Most likely involved in the area we're in, yes," Rupert said. "We should move on, see if we can outpace it."

The urge to disagree, to do anything other than what he was told, was very strong. "Quickly," Ethan muttered. "I can't..."

Rupert nodded sharply, finally letting go of Ethan's wrist. "Help me get Ian moving."

Bugger. He could hardly get himself moving, let alone... Rubbing his wrist, Ethan stood up, but then stopped again. Rupert was taking control, telling them all what to do again, playing the petty Napoleon, and Ethan was fed up with it. He was damned if he was going to bully Ian on Rupert's behalf. "I'm not your lackey, you know," he muttered under his breath.

Rupert frowned at him, but then seemed to catch himself. "You're my partner," he responded. "And I need your help."

Fuck. Fuck it. He needed help himself. Staggering over to Ian, Ethan kicked him, not all that hard. "Get up, crow."

Ian glared up at him. "Why should I?"

"We're going to explore further on, see what other things we can find," Rupert responded, taking Ian's hand and bodily pulling him to his feet.

Before Ian could argue, Ethan moved close and took a chance based on where his own chaotic thoughts were currently taking him. He whispered in Ian's ear. "Come with us now, and when we get to the other end, I'll have Rupert push you against the wall, kiss you, and feed you his magic. Just come with us now, and you'll get it all."

That seemed to take care of any protests Ian had, and together, the three of them continued up the next flight of stairs.

Rupert kept badgering them on, up flight after flight, but Ethan felt clearly the moment he was free of the malign influence. "It's gone," he said wearily, continuing to climb as he wanted more distance. "Rupert, don't you dare claim to be useless here again. Ian and I... Well, we were not even close to understanding, or caring, what was going on."

"The advantage to having a more orderly nature is that, when it's enhanced, it makes you even better at noticing things that are out of order," Rupert replied. "Of course, then all you really want to do is sit there and analyse every option to find which is the best before moving..." He reached out and briefly clasped Ethan's hand. "A little instinct and feeling can be a good thing too."

The trap had moved them closer to their elemental natures, making Ian and Ethan lawless, selfish and impulsive, and consuming Rupert with the need for organisation and control. They would have ended up killing each other had they stayed within the influence. Ethan shivered.

He would have liked to have kept hold of Rupert's hand a little longer, but he was not a child, despite the way he had just been behaving. "Ian, are you going to hold me to my promise?" He chuckled a little breathlessly due to all the stair-climbing.

"Perhaps when we're a bit further away," Ian said thoughtfully then grinned at Ethan, eyes sparkling. "When there's less chance of us forgetting what we're doing."

Ethan grinned back, as much in relief that they had survived the trap as anything else. So that his lungs could concentrate on breathing, he sent with humour, ' _Ripper dear, I may have compromised you a little._ '

Rupert shot him an amused look. ' _Why am I not surprised?_ '

' _Thought wasn't easy at the time, but I knew what would get Ian moving as it would've got me moving too._ '

Rupert chuckled. ' _I'll have to keep that in mind in case we're ever in the same situation again._ '

' _You should already have known that about me, at least. If you lead me by the balls, I'll follow you anywhere. Well, I'd follow you anyway, but still, added incentive never hurts._ ' Ethan flashed a grin at Rupert.

' _I'll see about getting a leash,_ ' Rupert deadpanned in response.

That idea wasn't without some merit, but the feverish area below Ethan's ribs chose that moment to complain strongly, and he instinctively wrapped his arm tightly across his waist in response. "Hungry," he said with a half-smile at Rupert once the pang had died away as he realised his action had been spotted.

"When we get off these bloody stairs, we'll find a place were we can take a break," Rupert said decisively. "Perhaps even ration out a bit more of our remaining ink to get something hot."

"Coffee," Ethan said with longing.

"Perhaps." Rupert, it seemed, was in an accommodating mood.

***

A groan of what sounded like unadulterated pleasure came from Ethan, and Giles repressed a smile. It was only a cup of summoned coffee, after all. "Usually you only groan like that for me," he teased.

"You made this for me," Ethan pointed out. He had his hands cupped around the large mug and was holding it as he would something very precious.

"Still, I feel like I should be asking if I should be jealous of a beverage."

"Ah, this is just a trivial flirtation, husband mine. No sooner has your rival kissed my lips than he is passing from my thoughts. Talking of kissing, are you going to pay my debts for me?" Ethan looked from Giles to Ian, who was quietly enjoying his own mug of java.

Giles glanced over at Ian, remembering the chat they'd had while Ethan had been sleeping. The attraction was definitely there between them and no longer unvoiced. He just didn't know if acting on that attraction was wise. "Perhaps," he finally replied. "If he wants me to."

Ethan chuckled. "And so he agrees without even knowing quite what he's agreeing to. Ian, are you cashing in your chips?"

"Oh, I don't think I can allow any reneging on this particular debt," Ian said, smiling slightly and just a little smugly.

"Why do I get the feeling I should be worried?" Giles asked in the face of that smile.

Ethan leant back against the wall, a quite definite smirk on his lips. "Well, you'll both have to stand up for this, you know." Ian promptly did so; Giles hesitated long enough to shoot Ethan a slightly worried look before following suit. Ethan grinned in a way that wasn't reassuring. "Now let's see if I can remember the exact wording. You may have to help me with this, m'lord crow." He paused, quite clearly for dramatic effect. "Rupert, you are obligated to push our good friend firmly against the wall, kiss him, feed him magic, and, um... was there anything else?"

"There was some mention of 'getting it all'," Ian helpfully supplied.

Giles turned that over in his mind. "Wouldn't that mean he got you as well?" he asked Ethan.

"Ripper, do the pushing and the kissing as stipulated, and I'm afraid neither of you will be able to prevent getting me as well." Ethan's grin turned into a thoughtful frown. "Wards first, I suggest. The same ones we used for the Estate should work, only forming a bubble around us."

Ian nodded. "Those would certainly prove effective."

Ethan stood and joined them in the centre of the room. Working together, they quite quickly shaped an anti-Chaos sphere around themselves. Well, more of an anti-Chaos squishy oblong really. They had to adapt the working a little so that the building's structure wouldn't set off the wards, only active Chaos.

That done, Ethan stepped back a little way and folded his arms, looking from Giles to Ian and back again. "Well?" he demanded, smirking again. Ian just smiled enigmatically.

"Was the order of actions important?" Giles asked.

"You're procrastinating, dear," Ethan said fondly. "Don't worry about respect due or any such nonsense like that. Just claim him as you would me, for the next hour or so anyway."

"Am I really so intimidating?" Ian asked, still smiling.

"I usually have to work up to the pushing people into walls." Still, Giles moved closer, letting that constant low-level attraction he felt for Ian flare up into something stronger as he reached out to touch the older man's face. As he did, he felt a very familiar touch of magic followed by a mild but definite surge of arousal.

"A helping hand, you might say," Ethan said unrepentantly, when Giles glanced with pointed inquiry his way.

Ian's smile was fading now, and the very beginnings of an intensity Giles remembered from their night together in the nursery were starting to show in Ian's eyes. He moved his cheek slowly against Giles' fingers.

That helped Giles get into the flow of this strangeness more than anything else had so far. He let his fingers trace over Ian's features, trying to imagine what Ian must have looked like when he was young, when he had been with Derek. "I'm not him," he murmured, knowing that Ian would follow what he was saying, "but I don't mind if you pretend." Then he leant in and kissed the older man lingeringly.

Ian's lips felt almost cool to start with, and he returned the kiss only hesitantly, but when Giles tried to pull back, Ian nonetheless tried to follow. Giles allowed him to do so, sliding his hand from Ian's cheek to the nape of his neck, holding him in place as the kiss deepened.

Ian made a slight noise in his throat, which was echoed from the side by Ethan. Ian's hands moved up to Giles' waist, holding lightly, and he became more active in the kiss, his tongue darting quickly through Giles' lips. That pulled a noise up from Giles' throat as well, and he slowly walked Ian backwards until he was pushing him up against the aforementioned wall.

Ethan and Ian groaned simultaneously as Ian's back met the wall, almost as if they were feeling the same things, and thinking about Ethan's abilities and wont, that was far from impossible. Ian's hands moved around behind Giles, restlessly stroking.

Giles let his own hands wander as well, first over Ian's clothes, then dipping down to his waist to slide up underneath his top and glide over bare skin. All the while, he kept kissing him, losing himself in the taste and feel as much as he would have if it had been Ethan.

Ethan muttered something that sounded appreciative under his breath, and from the loudness of it, he was closer to them both now. Giles didn't have a chance to check, however, as Ian had started moving, twisting and rubbing against Giles, following the touch of Giles' hands. That was when Giles judged it time to add the last requested element, and let his magic flow through his fingertips.

Kiss finally broken, Ian's head tipped back as he gasped, but it was Ethan who said urgently from right beside them, "Oh more. Please, Ripper, more."

It was definitely odd, like snogging Ethan by proxy, but that didn't stop it from being unbearably erotic. "Yes, more," Giles replied, taking advantage of the momentary lapse in kissing to pull Ian's tops over his head and cast them aside.

Ian hardly seemed to notice, taking Giles' face between his hands and starting the kiss again, feeding his own magic to Giles, so like Ethan's yet not, quite, the same. Still good though; still something of which he wanted more. Ethan, in the meantime, had moved behind Giles and was pressing into him, rubbing, his hands pushing up Giles' own tops to remove them.

Giles begrudged the second he had to pull back from Ian to allow Ethan to get his tops off over his head, but the feel of skin against skin as he pressed against Ian once more made the brief loss of contact well worth it.

Ethan moaned quietly, and when he pressed close to Giles again, he too was shirtless. Ian, his eyes closed, seemed helpless in his responses to Giles' magic-tinted touch, following his hands, his mouth, wherever they moved, and pushing into them. Giles had still been imagining that Ian had taken him at his word and was fantasising his touches came from Derek, but when Ian finally spoke, it was to groan, "Rupert..."

That affected Giles more than he would have ever expected, and he reacted by capturing Ian's mouth again in a possessive, almost violent kiss, pushing against Ian more roughly than he had up to now. His two lovers shuddered on either side of him, their hands gripping him tightly, their hips thrusting against him. Giles growled in reaction, finding the unaccustomed experience of being in the middle arousing enough to make his head spin.

"Christ," Ethan muttered, and Giles felt hands on his belt, swiftly unbuckling. Ian, in the meantime, was caressing Giles' upper body, spilling magic liberally across Giles' skin. Giles' trousers were opened and fell to his ankles, his boxers quickly following. As he stepped out of them and his shoes, his lips still locked to Ian's, he felt Ethan move to the side of him again. Ian was quickly as naked as Giles.

Giles was glad to have someone else take care of the little details like getting rid of their clothes; it left him free to focus on the important things like touching, feeling, pulling small sounds of pleasure from Ian, echoing them with his own.

Now their erections were free to rub and thrust against each other, and it was almost too good. Ian, no longer at all hesitant, was cupping Giles' buttocks in his hands and pulling their bodies tight together with surprising strength. Giles could feel urgency rising within him, demanding and consuming. "Want you," he growled, thrusting hard against Ian.

"Oh please," Ian replied with a ragged chuckle, "do help yourself." Giles felt Ethan laugh too; he was back behind Giles again and naked by the feel of it. Letting a wolfish grin cross his face, Giles slid his hands down Ian's torso, trailing magic with their touch, and finally closing his grip around Ian's cock. Ian gasped hard, his whole body tensing. "Oh. Rupert..."

Giles could feel Ethan panting against his back, the breath hitting his skin in soft puffs. Ethan's cock was pressing between Giles' buttocks, hard and impossible to ignore. Giles couldn't stop himself from pushing back into that touch, but swallowed his groan and kept his concentration on the man in front of him. "Should I fuck you right here?" he asked, voice low and husky as he leant forward, his chest resting against Ian's, holding him in place as he let his other hand drift down to cup Ian's balls, the first still stroking Ian's cock. "Turn you around and fuck you right up against the wall? Could you handle that?"

Ian stared fixedly at him, silent bar his laboured breathing and occasional small gasp, but he nodded eagerly. Ethan, however, had other ideas. "Floor, dearheart. Please take him on the floor. For me?"

Unable to deny that plea from Ethan, Giles nodded sharply then stepped back, pulling Ian with him and turning him around so he could lower the man to the floor, following him down and devouring his mouth yet again.

Whimpering into the kiss, Ian squirmed in a way that suggested he really was related to Ethan in some kind of esoteric but powerful manner. He lifted his legs and wrapped them around Giles, who was vaguely aware that Ethan was behind him, kneeling between his thighs. Ethan's hands stroked up Ian's legs, half-holding them.

Giles slid a hand between his and Ian's bodies, briefly stroking Ian's cock again before drifting further back to brush against his opening. "You ready for me?" he asked, letting one finger push inside teasingly.

"God... ah..." Ian seemed to still be having problems forming words, perhaps because of the magic tingling out from Giles' finger, but he managed a gasped, "Yes!"

' _Any more requests, love?_ ' Giles sent to Ethan, controlling his own urges enough to ask that before going any further.

' _Only... may I?_ ' Ethan ran his finger down between Giles' buttocks and begin to copy Giles' movements within Ian.

Giles couldn't help but buck into the touch. "God..." he half-groaned, half-growled. ' _It might kill me, but yes. God, yes._ '

"Just so you know," Ethan said aloud in a low voice as his finger moved inside Giles. "Ian and I have been pattern-linked since just after you first kissed him." Giles had guessed as much, of course.

"Bloody brilliant!" Ian said underneath him in what sounded like satisfied agreement.

Knowing for sure that Ethan was feeling everything Giles did to Ian just made it all even more intense, and Giles couldn't wait any longer. He shifted position, lined himself up, and slowly pushed into Ian's body, a stream of magic easing his way.

Ian muttered something unintelligible, tipping his head back. His thighs tightened around Giles, his heels digging into Giles' back briefly. Ethan, on the other hand, had stopped moving at all.

' _Feel me?_ ' Giles sent to him, pulling out of Ian slightly then thrusting back in. ' _Do you feel me inside him?_ '

' _Yes. Yes, God, yes_.' Ethan shifted again and pressed a second finger inside Giles.

"Yes," Ian echoed aloud. "Rupert." He reached up and traced Giles' features with slightly trembling fingers.

Giles turned his head enough to kiss Ian's fingers then leant over, claiming Ian's lips with his own, thrusting his tongue into Ian's mouth in an echo of what his hips wanted so badly to do. Despite that though, he kept his lower body still, buried fully in Ian's body.

Ian clenched his inner muscles impatiently, but Ethan muttered heatedly, "Wait, wait just a few moments, dearest crow," and pulled his fingers out from Giles' body. A few seconds later, Giles felt a wash of Ethan's magic over his opening and then a cock pressing firmly inside.

Giles groaned, arching and pressing back into Ethan's penetration, his senses temporarily overwhelmed by the sensation of fucking and being fucked at the same time.

"Feel us fucking you?" Ethan asked, making matters even more confusing. "We feel you in us. Move, dearheart. Move between us, giving and receiving. It's like a sacred ritual really. Ripper, move."

And Giles began to do just that, even before the thought to do so was fully formed. He pulled slowly out of Ian, which pressed Ethan deeper into his own body, then thrust forward again, pulling away from Ethan and burying himself in Ian. Back and forth, between the two sensations, filling and being filled, every movement bringing one or the other.

He moved slowly at first, savouring every spark of pleasure, wanting this to last for as long as it could, but need soon had him speeding up, thrusting harder and faster between the two men, forcing inarticulate cries of pleasure from all three of them.

He could no longer tell whose hands were whose, whose mouth was kissing his skin where. Unless he concentrated, Giles wasn't even clear whom he was inside and who was inside him. He was fucking both of them, being fucked by both of them, making both of them groan and cry out in synchronous, wordless pleas for more.

All too soon, Giles felt his orgasm rushing up upon him. As his groin tightened almost painfully, and his world started to close in to just two points of overwhelming sensation, he heard a roar from his lovers, almost a scream, coming from two throats at once. His own cry added to the crescendo as pleasure blinded him, momentarily paralysing him, and he came.

Reality went away for a little bit then, and when Giles came back to himself, he was part of a lazy, sated, three-way jumble of bodies. Someone's hand –Ethan's, he rather thought– was moving in slow, light circles on Giles' hip. Ian, who was still half-under Giles, stirred slightly. He really couldn't be all that comfortable, Giles supposed, pinned to the floor.

Making a supreme effort, Giles managed to shift himself and the others so they were lying more or less side by side by side, with legs and arms still all tangled together. Ethan made a grumbling noise and shuffled closer. "I miss our bed."

The floor was a bit hard, Giles admitted to himself. Wanting to give them something softer on which to enjoy the afterglow, he dredged up some helpful words of Latin from his memory and concentrated his magic, condensing the air beneath them into a semblance of a mattress. He felt them lift as the spell worked, now 'floating' a few inches above the floor. "Better?"

Ethan sighed contentedly and rolled onto his back. "Much better. Knew you could do this if you tried." Ian murmured unintelligibly, but with the definite sound of appreciation in his tone.

"Perhaps I just needed the right motivation," Giles replied, running a hand lightly down Ian's arm in a fond caress, and at the same time, reaching for Ethan's hand.

Both men responded by moving closer to him, curling up at either side of him and sandwiching him in warmth. Ethan chuckled softly. "How did you like playing piggy in the middle, Ripper?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I find my brain. I rather fear I lost it somewhere along the line there."

"Go to sleep, dear man," Ian rumbled against Giles' shoulder. "We'll look for your brain later."

Giles turned his head enough to kiss Ian softly. "Thank you," he said simply, before letting his eyes drift closed.

Ethan coughed pointedly. "How nice it is to be taken for granted."

Without opening his eyes, Giles squeezed Ethan's hand. "It is nice, knowing you'll always be there. Of course I take you for granted; you're the one constant in my life that's never going to change. Not now."

"You could still say thank you," Ethan insisted, his voice rich with humour and far too awake. "Old rangy crows could too."

"Can't," Giles replied, yawning as he let himself succumb to the lure of sleep. "Napping."

Just as Giles was slipping into a soft and pleasant unconsciousness, he felt Ethan move and then soft lips pressed to his cheek. The last soft murmur Giles heard before succumbing to sleep was, "Thank you, Rupert."


	6. Chapter 6

Some short while later, Ethan pulled away from his sleeping lovers and moved off the bed of air in order to rummage around in what was left of their summoned food. He considered clothes, but there seemed no urgency. One of the many strange things about this non-place they'd found themselves stuck in was that they were never too hot, nor too cold.

He looked back at the two men he'd left curled together on the 'bed' and felt a surge of warmth from a different source, however. Love, he supposed. Whoever knew he'd had so much in him?

Given time, he could see Ian becoming a true third to his partnership with Rupert, although things being what they were, Ethan supposed Ian would never really be an equal in the relationship. His mystic bond was to someone else, after all. And anyway, Ethan wasn't all that keen on sharing Rupert as a long-term prospect, although if he had to, Ian was the only person he'd ever consider for the role. It was, after all, hard to keep his hands off Ian at the best of times, but...

He sighed. Yes, but. These rather circular ponderings were pointless, considering what Ian believed awaited him in this barren place.

Sighing softly again, Ethan bit off some more turkey to chew. It was a good job he was used to seeing with more than just his eyes, otherwise sleeping on an invisible mattress and eating increasingly dry meat that looked like floorboard would be unnerving.

He became aware that he could feel a gaze upon him, and he turned around to see Ian propped up on one elbow watching him with an affectionate smile. "Worked up an appetite?"

"I'm somewhat peckish," Ethan admitted quietly, not wanting to disturb Rupert who actually seemed to be sleeping well for once. "Want anything? There's still a squishy banana left and some of the cheese."

Ian didn't seem impressed with the menu. "I, ahh, had my fill earlier when I ate the last of the chocolate."

"Ah yes, along with our whisky. Bad old bird, you are." He couldn't face the banana, but Ethan took the cheese and moved to sit on the floor on Ian's side of the bed.

"Alcohol, chocolate, dope and sex – it's certainly been a day for indulging in vices," Ian observed with humour, resting a hand briefly on Ethan's shoulder.

"Least you shared the sex." Ethan grinned down at Ian, who was still propped on his elbow. "Some superior shagging, no?"

"It was indeed. A veritable highwater mark of shagging," Ian said expansively.

"Something to tell Derek about when you see him." It seemed easier to say that and believe it was true tonight; Ethan wasn't sure why. "Will he be okay about it, you think?"

Ian seemed to consider this question before answering. "Most likely he'll be jealous he missed out. Derek was always quite... passionate in everything he did."

Ethan pondered that. "Can you imagine him getting along with Rupert, the way we get on, or would they have locked horns?"

"I think there would have been a great deal of posturing at first, but they would have come to an accord eventually." Ian chuckled. "Probably based on exasperation with us."

That made Ethan laugh as he could easily imagine it. "And me? Would Derek have liked me?"

Ian smiled. "I think he would have liked you very much in spite of himself. Much the same way he liked me."

"You're hard not to like," Ethan said, twisting to thread his fingers through Ian's hair and kiss him softly, suddenly feeling a little sad.

Ian smiled at him, touching Ethan's face. "You didn't know me back in the days when I was young and obnoxious."

Ethan gave him a wicked smile in return. "No, but I wish I had." Or maybe not, remembering what he'd got up to even without a friend as sensation-seeking as himself.

"Maybe next lifetime."

His grin faded. "You better keep your promise," Ethan said, looking down, his hand dropping.

"I always keep my promises," Ian said softly, touching Ethan's face again.

"At least send me a postcard?"

Ian smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

Ethan rearranged himself a little lower, so that he was leaning on the airbed and more on a level with Ian. "Have you noticed how we're not really talking about what we're doing here, what might await us?"

"Do you want to?" Ian asked.

"Not particularly," he admitted. "I'm just wondering if Rupert wasn't entirely wrong with his desire to talk strategy."

"We've been managing so far. It's difficult to prepare when you don't know what exactly you are preparing for."

"Well, we know what prophecy tells us... which is precious little when it comes down to it." Ethan sighed.

Ian shrugged philosophically. "Do prophecies ever do more than hint at the pattern? Our best bet is to keep all our senses alert and be prepared for anything."

"Like getting involved in an intense threesome, you mean?" Ethan chuckled and nuzzled against Ian.

"After-effects of an over-abundance of Chaotic nature," Ian deadpanned.

"Of course, of course." Ethan nodded sagely, but then felt himself become more serious. "Do you even have an idea what it is we're meant to be doing here?"

"Face the enemy and vanquish him. Beyond that... Well, life is always a surprise." Ian ran a hand lightly down Ethan's chest to his belly. "And then there's the little addendum you've added to the prophecy..."

Ethan looked uneasily down his own body. The heat and swelling so obvious to his pattern senses were really not visible to the naked eye. Not yet, anyway. It was already clear that his little cache was a time-limited tenancy for Dawn. "It hurts a lot at times," he mentioned, lowering his voice still further.

Ian's hand came to rest directly over the spot in question, and Ethan felt his mentor's magic adding more shielding around the cache. "You're doing something that was never meant to be done. That you've managed to get this far with it is in itself amazing."

"Stupid too, I'm sure, but... oh bugger it. You know." Ethan put his hand over the top of Ian's and let himself feel the ridiculousness of the situation. "Well now, are you feeling like the proud father? You did help considerably with the entire process as I recall."

"I wasn't about to sit back and watch you dive into unknown waters without offering so much as a life preserver."

Ethan squeezed Ian's hand appreciatively. "I should have told him, you know. Still should. In attempting to keep the third promise, I'm breaking the second. I can't say that feels good."

"Why didn't you tell him?" Ian asked curiously.

"Because I'm scared I'll fail. I don't want to raise his hopes up only to crush them."

"Do you think he'd hold it against you if you did?" The question was asked in a soft version of what Ethan had dubbed Ian's teaching voice.

Ethan's brain became rather stuck on that question. "It... she means a great deal to him."

"Yes, she does, but you didn't answer the question."

"He knows I intend to try to bring her back. It's only this" –he squeezed Ian's hand again where it lay above the cache– "that I haven't told him about." He wanted to stop talking about this now.

"Why?" Ian asked again. "Do you really think he wouldn't understand?"

"Of course he'd understand, you stubborn old bird, and that would change nothing!" Ethan's voice was getting rather too loud, so he reduced its volume before adding, "I'd still have failed him. All of them, in fact."

"I think," Ian said slowly, "that there's two different issues here, your worry about not succeeding, and your fear of telling Rupert."

"He'll be angry," Ethan finally admitted. "And no doubt blame himself somehow. Don't ask me how, but he'll find a way."

"And how will he feel when he finds out you're afraid to talk to him?"

This was starting to become irritating. "Afraid really isn't the right word, Ian. I just feel he's got enough to worry about and feel overly responsible for currently without adding me to the list." Ian just raised an eyebrow at him, so Ethan demanded, "What's that meant to mean?"

"There's not the least bit of projection happening?"

Ethan tried to work that out. "You think I'm feeling worried and overly responsible for him?"

"For him and for Dawn both," Ian said gently.

"Maybe." Ethan shrugged, feeling despondent. "Rupert worries about the whole bloody world though."

"He does have a rather highly developed sense of responsibility," Ian agreed, glancing over at the sleeping man in question.

An unpleasant twinge of paranoia made Ethan reach out with his pattern senses then to check that Rupert was still sleeping soundly. He quickly discovered, spirits plunging, that had been more instinct than paranoia. "Bugger." He sat up and rubbed his face in his hands. "How much have you heard?"

Rupert opened his eyes, giving up the pretence of sleep. "Enough to know you're not telling me something that you're worried about failing at."

Ethan stared at the floor, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. It had been bloody stupid discussing it so close to Rupert... or maybe it hadn't. Maybe he'd wanted Rupert to know really. Bugger, what a mess.

Ian was a supportive presence, but he remained silent. When neither of them said anything, Rupert sat up, reaching over Ian to rub Ethan's shoulder. "Talk to me, love?"

Christ, he wished he'd told all before he had to tell all. Ethan turned, gave Rupert a weak smile, and crawled carefully over Ian to squeeze in between the two men. "I'd rather show you."

"Show me what?"

Ethan lay on his back and took Rupert's hand... and then hesitated. His reasons for not telling Rupert still seemed rather compelling; he couldn't see what possible good could come from Rupert fretting himself stupid about this too. It was too late now, though. Sighing, he granted Rupert pattern sight, waiting for him to adjust to that before going further.

Rupert remained silent, just gave Ethan a questioning glance.

"Here, dearheart. Look here." Ethan briefly moved his free hand over the heated skin below his left ribs and then let it drop, so Rupert could see.

"That's..." Rupert frowned. "What is that? It's not you."

"It's Dawn. Well, sort of."

Rupert shook his head. "I don't..."

"It's her pattern. Everything that was the girl, not the Key. I, er, saved it." Ethan looked worriedly at Rupert.

"You can do that?" Rupert asked, then shook his head. "I mean, obviously you can, but–"

"For a while," Ethan said, really not wanting to elaborate on the risks of what he was doing, at least not the risks to him. "The big question is – can I undo it once the Key has done its mysterious preordained task?"

"I wouldn't bet against you," Ian said, speaking up for the first time since Rupert had awakened. "You're quite gifted with shapeshifting as you once told me yourself."

Ethan reached out with his free hand to gratefully squeeze Ian's. "You have every right to be angry with me," he told Rupert, quite simply.

"This, what you're doing, it's dangerous, isn't it?" Rupert asked softly.

Bugger yet again. "You don't need to worry about me, dearheart. Really, you don't."

Rupert gave him a faint smile. "I notice you're not denying it."

"I... I'm trying my best for her, Rupert. For you. I just... I may fail." There, it was said. "And then she would really be gone."

Rupert tugged on Ethan's hand pulling him into an embrace. "No one can ask for more than your best, and I feel like I'm only getting the faintest of impressions of what you're actually risking to attempt this."

Ethan accepted the cuddle with relief. "I'll be all right. I've not changed all that much, Ripper. Still a selfish bugger at heart."

There was a snort of disbelief behind him, which wasn't at all helpful. Ethan refrained from kicking Ian. Just. Anyway, the fact was that he _was_ still a selfish bugger. He was doing this as Rupert in pain hurt more than any pain of his own.

"You could have told me," Rupert said, softly, but as reprimands went this was quite mild.

"Yes." Well, what else could he say? "I'm sorry. Sorry we woke you up too as you need some good sleep. Will you let me relax you?"

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes, very much so – don't worry. Don't think about it. Concentrate on the big things like the maze and the enemy, and let me worry about this." Ethan held Rupert's face and looked into his eyes. "Not wanting you to worry was the main reason I didn't tell you. Well, one of the most important ones anyway."

Rupert looked back at him searchingly. "Worrying about you," he finally said, "is rather second nature, I fear, but I'll do my best not to let it get out of control."

Ethan laid his head on Rupert's shoulder. He'd have to be satisfied with that promise; any more wouldn't be realistic. "Thank you for not being angry."

"Thank you for telling me. Or," humour laced Rupert's voice, "at least talking about telling me where I could hear you."

"I'm glad you know," Ethan mumbled, letting himself relax and his eyes close. "Really."

***

"Strangely, Rupert," Ethan said as he stalked from the room in which they'd spent the night, "I am not at my best after two days ceaseless route marching, no coffee, and only dried up cheese for breakfast. I do not have morning sickness."

"All I asked was if the... if Dawn was causing you any problems," Giles replied mildly. The question had been prompted by Ethan's appearance when they'd woken up, the man had looked anything but healthy.

"Dawn is a well-mannered guest and the least of my problems," Ethan said, looking from side to side in the corridor. "Which way today?"

Giles looked between both directions himself. "Logic isn't much use in here," he admitted. "Perhaps you two can try a more instinctive way of making a choice?"

Ethan appeared for a moment as if he were about to be grumpy and unhelpful about that, but then he seemed to change his mind and turned to Ian, holding out his hand. "Shall we see which way has the prettiest patterns, old crow?"

"Certainly, young fox," Ian said with that slight smile of his and took Ethan's hand.

There was a short pause as they both just stood there, but then Ethan released Ian's hand, announced, "This way," and set off to the left.

Giles willingly fell into step beside him. "Prettier pattern this way?"

"There are more possibilities this way." Ethan said.

"Whether that's a good or a bad thing," Ian added, "is debatable."

They walked on in silence for a while in which Giles' mind kept worrying at the problem of the maze, but coming up with nothing new. "Feels like we've been doing this forever," he finally said just to break the silence.

"I think we're getting closer," Ian said encouragingly.

"That's a spot of good news. This has already taken longer than we really could afford," Giles said, thinking of what the situation had been in and around London when they had first stumbled into this maze.

"I'm not sure time here has any relevance to real world time," Ethan put in dourly.

"That's quite likely true," Ian confirmed almost cheerfully. "Like fairyland."

"So we may have been gone no time at all," Ethan continued, "but on the other hand..."

"Seven years in one night," Giles quoted softly. "Yes, well, let's hope for the 'no time at all', shall we?"

"I don't know," Ethan said thoughtfully. "It might give Buffy enough time to get over her most murderous impulses."

"I shudder at what else could have happened though," Giles said, thinking about the sort of thing that had happened in the past whenever he'd been elsewhere.

"Nothing we can do about it, either way, so rather a waste of time to fret, no?" Ethan glanced across at Giles.

"Hard to stop sometimes," Giles said, but dropped the subject even if he couldn't quite stop thinking about the rather appalling possibilities.

"You have an unlimited fretting capacity, don't you, dear?"

He supposed it would seem that way; it had been trained into him since childhood, after all. Trying to shake it off as much as he could, Giles reached for Ethan's hand and quipped, "We all have our own natural talents. Perhaps that's not the one I would have chosen for myself, but..."

"What would you have chosen?" Ian asked. "Given the choice."

Glad of the distraction, Giles gave the question some thought before answering. "Freedom," he finally settled on. It wasn't exactly a talent, but it was the thing he'd yearned for pretty much all his life.

Ethan gave him a sharp look. "Really?"

Giles nodded. "Freedom to make my own choices about what I want to do and who I want to do it with." He paused. "Which, incidentally, would be you."

Ethan squeezed Giles' hand; his expression seemed thoughtful. "Even when I talk you into catastrophic decisions?"

"Yes. I'd also be free to deal with the outcome and make reparations as I see fit if it came to that."

"But," Ethan hesitated, "Would you still... leave?"

Giles caught and held Ethan's gaze as he answered, "I'd have the freedom to stay."

Ethan looked as if he wanted to ask more, but instead he just smiled slightly and walked on, at least until Ian asked him, "What about you, m'boy? Any talents or opportunities you would have liked to have had?"

"Nothing not tediously obvious," Ethan answered with a shrug.

"Answer anyway," Giles bade, curious as to what exactly Ethan would say.

Ethan shot him a pained look. "I'd really rather not. I'm bored of my personal sob story even if you two aren't. I've got everything I need now. Nothing else matters." Giles slid an arm around Ethan's waist and pulled him close as they walked. "Well, apart from the blisters," Ethan added after a moment's thought. "I could do without them. Maybe I can swap them for some coffee."

"There, you see?" Ian quipped. "You wish for a talent for procuring caffeine."

"I normally have that talent," Ethan replied. "Foxes are consummate scroungers, after all. Crows too, for that matter. Carrion or fresh, we don't care overly."

"What about you, Ian?" Giles asked. "What talent would you have asked for?"

Ian gave a small sad smile. "Foresight."

Ah. Yes, if Giles had not managed to get Ethan back in his life, he could see how that would have been something he'd have wished for as well, to have avoided losing him in the first place. So how much worse was it for Ian since Derek had been killed?

Ethan reached out and took Ian's hand briefly. "We could all do with some more of that, I think. We'd all find the ability to see around corners handy."

"Like this one we're now approaching?" Ian asked. "Ah, it does feel like there's something around there."

"As you said earlier, it's difficult to decide if that's good or bad news," Giles said. "Should we be going around with guns a-blazing? Well, swords at least."

"I don't think so," Ethan said slowly as they paused. "I can't sense any bunnies or anything else animate."

"Well, there's only one sure way of discovering what's there." With that, Giles stepped around the corner.

The corridor, having turned, widened and ended quickly in a T-junction, and in the middle of the junction stood a grey stone pedestal with a wide top on which stood a crystal ball on a gold stand. At least it looked liked a ball, but as the three of them stepped cautiously closer, Giles could see that what had at first glance had seemed a smooth sphere was actually a poly-faceted crystal. It glittered and caught the eye almost mesmerisingly.

"Interesting," Giles mused as he moved to take a closer look, being careful not to touch. Whatever it was, he was sure it was no good.

"Don't stare into it," Ethan warned, also coming closer to investigate.

"Yes, you might see the 'Trap (tm)' engraved in its base if you look too closely," Ian said dryly.

"The enemy are not exactly subtle, are they?" Giles asked, circling around the object. "I wonder what it's supposed to do."

"We should probably just choose a direction and ignore it," Ethan said. He nonetheless moved closer, his head tipped to the side, apparently trying to get a good look at the base.

"Yes, you're probably quite right," Giles agreed, but couldn't make himself move away either. The crystal was a mystery, and mysteries had always been damned hard for Giles to resist.

"I'd raise those 'probablies' to a 'definitely'," Ian said, placing a hand briefly on both their backs. "Come on, left or right?"

"Just a sec," Ethan said distractedly, peering closer still, "I recognise this symbol." He leant forward further and put his hand on the edge of the grey pedestal, well away from the crystal ball and its stand, to help himself balance. At least, that's what Giles worked out later must have happened. All he actually saw was Ethan suddenly collapse limply to the floor, twisting as he fell, his hand still rigidly grasping the pedestal above.

"Ethan!" Giles knelt by him, urgently reaching out to check his vital signs. Before he could do so, Ian's hand fell on Giles' shoulder, dragging him forcibly back.

"Don't. Don't touch until we know what's going on."

Giles opened his mouth to argue, but a bright flash of light suddenly illuminated the space they were in. They both looked around to view the crystal ball floating above its base and glowing. A picture was beginning to form within it, a picture that was as unsettling as it was impossible.

Within the ball, Giles could see Ethan, naked and far too thin, his head shaven and covered with electrodes, as was his torso. There were large tubes attached to his flanks, imbedded in his flesh, and he was strapped to a gurney. Scientists in white coats were taking readings from the various devices to which the electrodes connected. Ethan was awake and wide-eyed, but his mouth was covered with breathing apparatus, which seemed to serve no purpose beyond gagging him.

As Giles watched in horror, one of the scientists flicked a switch and turned a dial. Suddenly Ethan's body bucked in the straps and began to spasm convulsively. Small tendrils of smoke arose from where the electrodes touched his skin.

As the Ethan in the crystal ball convulsed, so did the real Ethan, still stuck by his hand to the pedestal. Small circular burns appeared on his face and hands.

"Dear God," Giles muttered, feeling sick with horror. He knew exactly what he was seeing; Ethan had told him enough about his time in captivity that he recognised it, although neither of them had wanted to go into the details. This was Ethan's worst nightmare made true, finding himself back in that horrible place, and Giles couldn't just stand here and watch it.

He tried to go to Ethan again only to once more be restrained by Ian, who said, "We need to separate him from the pedestal. Think Rupert!" Which was when Ethan began to scream.

Giles stopped thinking entirely. Acting only on the instinctual need to help Ethan, Giles broke free of Ian and grabbed Ethan's wrist, intending to pull his hand away from the pedestal. But the second that Giles' hand touched Ethan, there was a rush of air and reality spun away dizzily until only black remained...

***

"...Giles? Come on, Giles, I couldn't have hit you that hard."

Giles blinked and opened his eyes to find his Slayer looking down at him worriedly. When Buffy saw him looking back at her, she gave him a relieved smile. "Oh thank god. For a second I thought I might've broken you."

"I..." he began, but trailed off confused. He was lying on the floor of the library, still wearing the padding that indicated he'd been in a training session with Buffy, although he couldn't quite remember exactly what it was they had been working on... which probably had something to do with the way his head was throbbing rather badly right now. He tried again. "I think that we're done here for today," he said, quite unnecessarily since he was still lying on the floor.

Buffy had the grace to look chagrined. "Sorry. That was a bit... You mentioned Angel, and I got a bit... Oops?" She offered her hand to help him up.

Giles let her pull him to his feet, wincing as that set his head to pounding all the more. "Oops would be a succinct summary, I believe, yes."

"You don't need to go to the ER again, do you?" Buffy asked, looking at him worriedly as Giles slowly began to divest himself of the padding he was wearing in order to prevent accidents like the one that had apparently just happened. What was it with him and being hit on the head?

"I'm fine, Buffy," he reassured her. "Although I think I will pass on accompanying you on patrol tonight. An early night, enough sleep, and I assure you I will be as right as rain tomorrow."

"You're sure?"

"I am," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

Buffy seemed to give in at that. "All right, but you let me clean up in here. It's the least I can do after..." She gestured at his head.

"Knocking me halfway back to England?"

"Yeah. That."

Giles didn't have it in him to argue with her right then. Instead, he gathered up his jacket and satchel and headed for the door. He paused just as he got to it, feeling like he was forgetting something important, but nothing jumped to mind.

Oh well, he decided, continuing on. It would come back to him if it were that vital.


	7. Chapter 7

OhJesusHChristfuckit! Bugger, it hurt.

Ethan came to back in his cell, chained to his bed while the bloody drains did their work. Literally bloody, he thought. Every time they reopened the holes, he seemed to bleed more freely than the last time.

The blistering, the wrenched muscles from the convulsions, the deep, dragging ache in his sides where the implanted devices captured his magic and sucked it from him – it was all routine now. Like putting on a suit and tie and going in to the office. Only not.

He'd been having such a very pleasant dream too, before the whitecoats had woken him. Why he had to be conscious for his torture, he'd never quite worked out.

The dream had been wonderful, his best yet, long and so detailed, utterly believable. Well, it had seemed believable whilst within it, anyway, but of course, it had been a complete load of old bollocks actually. As if Rupert Giles ever would.

Some day soon, Ethan hoped he'd slip into one of his dreams and never come out again. It was his best hope for escape from here, the only other exits he could envisage being brutal death or malnutrition-related illness. He was too weak now for another attempt at suicide and had no magic to call on the various deities of Chaos and offer his soul.

Yes, a pleasant delirium and a coma was the best he could hope for, and he'd almost had it there until those bastards had forced him to wake up.

Ethan closed his eyes and tried his hardest to step sideways from the pain, seeking once more the dream which had so enveloped him. He and Rupert had been adventuring together in a, hmm, a Chaos maze, a metaphor maybe for his own psyche. Ethan chuckled darkly, but it came out sounding more like a wet gurgle and started him coughing. The pain that brought on made him cry, albeit rather half-heartedly. None of this was worth his tears, not anymore.

He was in Hell. He probably deserved to be here. There was nothing to be done about it.

The dream, the dream – think only of that. There had been a third man with them, Ian, some kind of projection of Ethan's higher consciousness, which was amusing as he would've sworn he didn't have one. They'd all been looking for... a bear? A prisoner? Or was it a keyhole? It was starting to fade now, to rip and fray.

Ethan moaned, clutching with mental fingers for the dream fragments as they fluttered away, leaving him alone, unable to move, and awash with pain he couldn't escape. It was too much. Really, it was. It had been too much for a very long time now. Anyone else would have been happily in the arms of insanity by this point, but he, for some reason, had to live through every appalling minute stone stark staring sane and sober. He craved madness like water in drought, but while despair was his constant friend, insanity did no more than flirt from a distance behind her fan.

"Trollop," Ethan muttered. "Pricktease."

***

Giles walked into his apartment, rubbing his mouth thoughtfully. They should, he thought, have a few days grace before the Sisterhood of Jhe made a serious attempt to open the Hellmouth. Having destroyed the nest, Buffy and Faith should have time enough to prepare.

It was good to have two Slayers for this apocalypse, reassuring. Of course, that was no guarantee that they would still have two at the end of the fight; Kendra's fate the year before had been a brutal reminder of that. He grimaced as the thought led to other thoughts of that battle and his time enjoying Angelus' hospitality. Angel, of course, would also be extremely useful to have on their side against the Sisterhood, but Giles was never going to feel comfortable around the vampire.

And wasn't that an understatement? He still had nightmares about the torture and about what Angelus had done to Jenny. Giles would wake gasping, the grief and anger fresh and new again, and he would allow himself the momentary luxury of hatred, his fingers aching with the need to stake Angelus. Angel. It didn't matter in those moments what name or persona the vampire wore. Giles desperately wanted him gone: for Jenny, for Buffy, for himself.

It wasn't a sentiment he let carry over into his waking hours. He was objective enough to realise that killing Angel would cause at least as many problems as it solved.

Besides, Angel had saved them all from Eyghon, from Giles' mistake. If nothing else, Giles owed him for that and paid the vampire back with a pretence of forgiveness, of acceptance, and the courtesy of leaving his fantasies of staking Angel as just that, fantasies.

After hanging up his jacket on the peg, Giles poured himself a small whisky and sat down in the chair by his bookcases. He needed to research the Sisterhood, discover if there was a specific day that they might be aiming at for Hellmouth opening. He should eat too, but later.

As he opened the glass doors to the case, the hinges squealing loudly in the silence, he was struck by how empty the apartment felt, as if someone or something important was absent, which really made no sense at all. He supposed he was still missing Jenny. Well, of course he was. It was nearly a year since her death, but sometimes it still felt like it had just happened yesterday.

Sometimes it seemed like a Watcher wasn't just destined to lose his Slayer to a premature death, but all the others close to him as well.

Now was not a good time to focus on personal losses, he told himself firmly, however much that empty place inside him was choosing to ache today. His Slayer needed him. Buffy was relying on him to provide the information that would allow her to do her job and stave off that premature death a little longer; he couldn't afford the luxury of self-pity.

Right then: the Sisterhood of Jhe, apocalypses, Hellmouths, business as usual. Giles pulled a selection of books from the shelves and sat back down to read through them.

***

This was odd. While admittedly, Ethan's sense of time was somewhat fluid and unreliable these days, it surely hadn't been a week already. Yet here were the soldiers pulling the drains from their suppurating holes as if their job were already complete.

There was rarely any point in trying to talk to the soldiers as they were not the sentimental kind of farmhand. Around here, it seemed, the men did not talk to their milk cows. Every once in a while, it was worth a try, however.

"A trifle premature, no?" Ethan asked, his voice unrecognisable to his own ears. "Surely a week hasn't passed."

He thought he was going to be ignored as usual, but then the guard Ethan thought of as Donatien, after deSade, met his eyes and smiled in a way that usually meant the exercise of some petty sadism was about to occur. "It'll be the hamburger factory for you any day now, Buttercup."

What did that mean? Was he drying up? Well, it was hardly surprising considering the state of his body. Magic required a certain level of fitness just like anything else. Maybe it would all be over soon.

The chains were undone, and Ethan was pushed unceremoniously to the floor while they changed his rather basic bedding.

"He been washed today?" the other soldier –Ethan decided to call him Igor– grunted.

"Fucked if I know," Donatien replied. He kicked Ethan, not all that hard. "Had your sponge bath today, Buttercup?"

Once a day, while he was chained down, a male nurse came to 'help him with his functions' and clean and dress the wounds in a perfunctory fashion. Lifting himself on trembling arms, Ethan managed to nod confirmation. "I had the pleasure of a shave today."

"Almost makes him look human, doesn't it?" Donatien laughed with Igor. It wasn't worth the energy to point out that he was human. Apparently, producing a valuable resource within his body somehow precluded him from the race into which he'd been born. The bed was done so Donatien didn't waste the opportunity to kick Ethan again. "Get back on it now."

Ethan stared up at him. "You are joking, of course."

"Do as you're told, Buttercup, or it's the slaughterhouse for you."

Smiling, Ethan said with careful enunciation, "Bring. It. On."

Apparently exasperated, Igor lifted Ethan gracelessly and dropped him on the bed. Then they were gone, and he was alone again, but thank God, chainless.

Ethan stared at the opposite wall, too tired to cry, too sick to move, and wondering how long it would be now. What would they do with his body once he was dead? Burn it, probably, eradicating everything he was from the world. No one who mattered would ever know what had happened to him. Ripper would never know, but Rupert Giles, of course, had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in knowing.

Despite everything, tears stung Ethan's eyes, and he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in his T-shirt. They kept the heating up in here while he was chained, but obviously, they'd turned it down again already. His prison jacket was beside the small sink, but it could be the other side of Nevada for all that he was able to reach it.

His fingers felt something underneath the cloth of his sleeve, and dully curious as to what they could have done to him now, he slipped his hand under the cloth to feel directly. What he felt made him open his eyes wide and made his heart jolt worryingly in his chest. There was something in his skin, something magical, something that felt like... like Ripper's magic!

Memories flooded into him –Ripper above him, inside him, panting with passion, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead... his lined forehead. This wasn't a true memory; it couldn't be. Ripper's hand on his arm, wonderful pain and the swell of orgasm. A badger, the thing on his arm was a badger, Rupert's heartbeast.

But that hadn't been real, had it? It had been a beautiful dream and nothing more... hadn't it?

Trembling violently, Ethan ran his fingers over the magic mark and understood at an almost primal level that no, this –the cell, the pain, the despair– was the illusion, but he had no way out.

***

Giles walked briskly through the Restfield Cemetery, understanding quite clearly that coming here on his own was probably not his most sterling idea. Still, a determined stride and an attitude that you belonged in a place could help protect you from muggers and vampires both.

Research had got them nowhere; he was letting Buffy down badly, and it was that which was forcing him to take extreme steps. Calling on the spirit guides was foolhardy at best, and he'd never even consider it normally.

He laughed a little bitterly to himself as he thought about how far, since coming to Sunnydale, he'd strayed from his promise to never indulge in magic again. It seemed circumstances were determined to make a lie out of his assertion that he did not need magic to survive. It was, when he let himself think about it, greatly disturbing. But he supposed it would make Ethan happy at least.

Ethan. Now there was a tangle of emotions that Giles had long ago given up trying to unravel.

He wondered if Ethan had really left town after the enchanted chocolate incident. It must have given him quite a shock to have seen Giles filled with the reckless spirit of his youth. Ethan was the only one who would truly understand what that meant; the only one who knew because he'd seen it, what Giles had been capable of then. The incident with Joyce and the police car –and Giles felt his face heat just thinking about it– was bad enough, but dear God, he had actually held a gun to Ethan's head, hadn't he?

He was fairly certain he wouldn't have used it, or fired it at least. He might have pistol whipped Ethan into unconsciousness with it, but that would only have been a beating that Ethan had rightfully earned.

But even at his worst, he couldn't kill Ethan. There was too much... history. When Giles had thought that Eyghon, whilst inside poor Jenny, had killed Ethan, something had twisted inside of him. It had felt, now that he considered it, much like those first horrible seconds when he had discovered Jenny's body and the disbelief at what he was seeing had faded into stone cold reality.

Of course, with Ethan he should have known better; there was nothing Ethan couldn't run from, talk his way out of, or somehow wangle an escape from. Just deserts, in Ethan's world, were something he graciously gave away to charity.

Giles sometimes wondered just what had happened to the boy he had once known, had once loved. Ethan had always been wild, of course, and unrestrained, but he'd had quite a soft heart underneath the pose and sensation-seeking. Hadn't he? Well, whether he had or hadn't, he certainly didn't indulge it now. Giles hoped Ethan had really gone this time. He just wished the dreams would go as well. His life was already too complicated to be able to fit the bundle of complications and contradictions that were Ethan back into it.

Turning his mind firmly back to business, Giles stopped in front of a large mausoleum, opened his bag, and took out the special candle he'd brought along with him. Lighting it proved difficult thanks to the breeze, but persistence paid off. Feeling like an idiot, he made the prostrations and then began to chant.

"Umbra ducens, audi me!"

***

Ethan rocked backwards and forwards on the bed, his fingers desperately tracing the brand on his upper arm. He knew this was illusion now, knew it to be a trap, but he hadn't a clue how to find his way out. He'd tried shutting his eyes and convincing himself that the pain, the smells, the hard bed beneath him, weren't real. That in all likelihood he was lying on the floorboards in one of the endless corridors of the maze that he was pretty sure they really had been exploring.

But when he'd opened his eyes again, the cell was still there.

He'd tried reaching out for Rupert, silently screaming for him in fact, but he'd heard nothing back. It was as if the mental link had never existed, but Ethan knew that it had. It had.

There had to be some way out of here. He refused, utterly refused, to die in an illusion created from his own nightmares. Rupert loved him. Rupert had rescued him. Maybe Rupert couldn't rescue him this time, but he'd rescue himself, and they'd be together again.

If only he had his pattern senses here. Maybe he did have, but there was nothing to sense as none of this was real. Although, even dreams had a pattern, didn't they? He just needed to know how to look. Maybe he shouldn't be trying to deny the illusion, but instead exploring it more deeply?

Shutting his eyes again, Ethan thought about the patterns that he did know from this place: the routines, the shape of his pain, the insignia on his prison jacket, the weave of the coarse blanket, the dripping of the drains and his single tap, the circular patterns of his daily thoughts...

All of these things and more made up the illusion. He built them together in his mind, wove them into a whole, into a discordant symphony of pattern, and let it play, watching, understanding, waiting for... what?

There! Of course, he was an idiot. The break in the pattern, the one thing that didn't belong, was the brand on his arm. That was the loose thread to pull. Concentrating hard on the badger, Ethan allowed it to grow huge in his mind, submerging awareness of the illusion's pattern. As he did this, he felt himself changing. His breath became less laboured, his wasted muscles felt stronger. He had hair again, body fat, and his pain was limited to a raging headache.

Smiling broadly at his achievement, he opened his eyes... only to find himself still in the bloody cell! For fuck's sake! He felt like smashing the place to bits, which of course he was now a little more capable of doing. His body had reverted to what it should be at least.

Standing, he strode around his small space impatiently. He was so near, so bloody close to getting out.

At that moment, something very incongruous floated down in front of his eyes, a feather. A black feather.

"Ian!" Ethan whirled around, almost expecting to see his mentor standing in the cell. He wasn't, of course, but a narrow beam of light was now shining down from a small hole in the ceiling – a rip! Oh, bless the Lord of Crows!

With everything he was, everything he had, Ethan concentrated on the beam of light, on the hole in the illusion, and willed himself to climb it like a ladder to Heaven...

***

...Gasping desperately for breath as if he'd been held under water and just released, Ethan sat bolt upright.

He was... he was back in the maze. Not a dream. An illusion, yes, but a real one, with a real friend kneeling beside him looking greatly concerned, and a real husband... draped half over him and clearly unconscious. Ethan moaned hollowly, unable to stop the tears streaming down his face. He knotted his fingers in Rupert's hair, feeling out with his pattern senses and being reassured somewhat by the healthy forms he found. But oh, he needed Rupert. He needed him.

"Take it easy for a few moments," Ian said, his hand coming to rest against Ethan's back, the touch welcome for the anchor to reality it represented. "I'm quite proud of you, m'boy, for figuring it out," he continued, but his voice was a little bit shaky.

Half-panting, half-sobbing, Ethan slumped against Ian, more grateful than he had words to express for his presence. "You... helped. So much. The feather. Rupert... where is...?"

Ian's arm went around him, hugging him tightly. "Judging by the stories I've heard, I'd say his illusion is from when he was in California." He nodded to above and behind Ethan. "It seems far more pleasant than yours was. I expect that our enemy especially dislikes those Chaos acolytes who have won free, such as you and I, and so tailors the illusions to be what it considers an appropriate punishment."

After taking a moment to brutally twist his own patterns into a quite unnatural state of calm, Ethan wiped his eyes and turned to look where Ian indicated. The crystal ball was floating above the pedestal and filled with moving images, like pictures on a telly. Rupert... Rupert was one of the actors. He was with a red-haired girl Ethan recognised as Willow, and they were sitting in... "Oh yes, that's Sunnydale. The school library, to be exact."

"It's been mostly things like that, talking and looking earnest and worried." Ian observed the orb for a moment. "Your Rupert was wound quite tightly, wasn't he?"

Ethan stared at the picture, his hands moving restlessly over Rupert's body. "He won't find a way out of there on his own," he said fatalistically, knowing it to be true. "He never could."

"He won't have to," Ian told him. "You're going to lead him out."

"I am?" Ethan pressed back into Ian, needing the comfort of his physical presence. He could still feel the wounds in his sides, still smell the disinfectant from his cell. "I mean, yes, I am. But how?"

"The same way I helped you, only you will be able to go much further because of your connection to Rupert. I was only able to manifest a symbol in your illusion. You'll be able to fully enter Rupert's illusion and interact with it much as he does."

"How?" Ethan demanded, twisting round to look at Ian. "Tell me. Show me."

"It's rather like when you give him your pattern sight, only in reverse," Ian said, running his hand in soothing circles over Ethan's back. "Instead of allowing him to perceive the world as you do, you take on his perceptions."

Okay, that... made a lot of sense. Thank God Ian was here. "I... All right. I can do this. I... Do you have wards? Will you be...?"

"Don't worry about me; I'll be fine." Ian gave him a quick smile. "But I want you to keep a bit of your awareness focused on me so that you can find your way back out again, all right?" Which also made sense.

Ethan nodded and re-twisted his patterns, which were beginning to let unhelpful and rather desperate emotions take hold of him again. He kissed Ian roughly and then turned, concentrating all –almost all– his awareness on Rupert.

***

"I've never seen him like this." Willow's tone was understandably worried. Oz was going to break out of that cage if they weren't careful. Giles had seen animals act like this before during the build up to a big storm or a quake.

He handed her the dart gun. "It's the Hellmouth. He can sense it's going to open. Be ready just in case." Willow looked anything but ready, however, as she was staring open-mouthed over his shoulder.

"Hello Ripper," said an all too familiar voice behind him. "Is that a werewolf?"

Giles spun around, his hands turning into fists of their own accord. "Ethan. I really don't have time for your antics right now so why don't you leave before I make you?"

He was expecting the infuriating smirk, and he did get a ragged version of it, but Ethan's smile seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. Ethan looked at Giles' fists and then down at his own hands, in one of which he seemed to be holding a large black feather, or maybe a quill. He rubbed his empty hand over his face and looked back up at Giles. "I can't, I'm afraid. Not unless you come with me."

"I'm rather busy at the moment. There's the small matter of an apocalypse to deal with. I'm afraid I don't have any time for outings right now." It occurred to Giles that usually by this time, he was thrashing Ethan until he left or Giles tossed him out, but for some reason, doing so now seemed... distasteful.

"I, er..." Ethan hesitated, glancing at Willow. "Perhaps I could help you?"

Giles crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And I would trust you, why?" It had to be the most absurd thing that Ethan had ever suggested.

Oz smashed into the cage door behind him, and he felt Willow stir nervously. Ethan, far from wearing the habitual mask of amusement, seemed quite distressed. He took a hesitant step towards Giles, but then stopped. "Ripper, Rupert, please. You must... You have to listen to me."

"I'm not sure why I have to do anything of the sort," he retorted. Still, it would be best if he could get Ethan away from Willow so whenever Ethan did whatever it was he had planned, she wouldn't be caught up in it. "Come to my office. You've two minutes."

"Giles?" Willow questioned in alarm. "What about Oz? Should I call Buffy. Or, um, Faith?"

Ethan gave her a small smile. "Urcott's Beast-tamer is what you need, sweet thing, providing you can lay your hands on some virgin blood." Willow stared at him and then turned to Giles, eyes wide.

"Call Buffy. Have her help you get Oz down into the basement." Giles gave the girl a reassuring smile. "He should be safe down there, and the added distance from the Hellmouth should calm him down a little."

Ethan shrugged. "It's a perfectly innocent little spell, Rupert. That's the whole essence of it, innocence. I wasn't trying to lead your little girl astray."

"Hey!" Willow protested as she headed for the counter, rediscovering some of her natural spunk. "Less of the little girl, mister!"

"Big, bad, scary as hell, dark magic witch, destined to try to destroy the world then, if you'd rather." Ethan shrugged and walked into Giles' office, leaving Willow staring at his back.

Giles looked at Willow, but couldn't really think of anything useful to say so just nodded and followed Ethan into his office, shutting the door behind him. "I'm waiting."

Ethan turned around to face him. "Rupert," he started, almost beseechingly, reaching out as if to touch him. Giles immediately stepped back out of reach, banging into the door behind him, and Ethan made a strange gulping noise and looked down. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know. There's no Chaos in me anymore. Reach out with your senses and see for yourself."

Deciding there was no way Ethan could manage mayhem with Giles just opening up his magic sense, he did so reluctantly. He sensed Ethan's magic, bright and strong, but as Ethan had predicted, not a bit of Chaos. Giles frowned; it couldn't be. Worshipping Chaos was everything to Ethan; he'd chosen that over staying with Giles back when they were young. He wouldn't...

"Why now?" Giles asked, his voice coming out fuller of emotion than he'd wanted.

Ethan laughed a strange little laugh. "I gave it up so that I could be with you." He tried to reach out again.

Giles couldn't move back any further as he was already pressed against the door, but he did flinch. "You're about twenty years too late, aren't you?"

"No, you don't understand." Ethan's hand reached him, trembling fingertips moved restlessly over his face. "This isn't you, Rupert."

"It isn't? Funny, I certainly feel like me."

Suddenly, alarmingly, Ethan was pressed against him, kissing feverishly at Giles' neck. "Please don't push me away. Please. Deep inside, you know I belong with you. Oh God, Rupert, you've no idea what they did to me."

Giles' first instinct was to do just that, push Ethan away, perhaps adding a punch or kick for good measure, but something held him back. There was a sadness, a desperation to the other man's actions that Giles didn't think could be faked. And Ethan _was_ free of any Chaos taint...

"It's all right," he finally said, putting his hands on Ethan's shoulders and pushing him back just enough so that he could make eye contact. "Calm down. I'm not pushing you away, but you need to tell me what you're going on about, all right?"

Ethan swallowed and looked down. He stopped trying to get closer to Giles and nodded. "I'll try. You won't believe me, of course. Not unless you–"

There were loud bangs and snarling outside followed quickly by two shots. "Don't worry about us," called Willow's voice. "We're okay. Everything's, you know, hunky dory." That seemed to be a little bit too much reassurance, and frowning, Giles moved to open the door and see for himself.

Ethan grabbed his arm. "They're fine. Rupert, don't let them distract you. You have to listen."

"You haven't said anything yet," Giles reminded him. "Of substance at least."

Dropping his hand, Ethan gave Giles a pained look. "None of this is real, Rupert. You're trapped in an illusion."

Giles stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Ethan waved his hands about in a way that Giles could only describe as nervous. "This, all of this, is just a fabrication of Chaos. Of Vaurtain. You are trapped inside it, and I have to get you out. Ian's out there, watching our bodies. Remember Ian?" He looked hopefully at Giles. "My mentor? A crow?" Seeming to recall what he had in his hand, he thrust the black feather towards Giles.

"Your mentor is a crow?" Giles asked slowly, staring at the feather and hoping that wasn't actually Ethan's 'Ian'.

Ethan frowned and shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Sorry, no, he's not... well, only sometimes. I'm explaining this all wrong. I just... Rupert, I need you so. Don't you have any memories at all of our life together? You rescued me, remember? From Nevada? And... and you made me a Watcher and then we went to Devon. Lucy helped you, and Ian helped me. And we got married. Oh God..." Ethan jolted, staring at his left hand in what looked like horror.

Giles frowned; he didn't know how Ethan could know about the coven in Devon or Lucy, and now that he thought about it, there was an Ian with that coven as well... Could what Ethan was saying actually have some truth in it?

Ethan clenched his eyes tight shut and his breathing, which had been getting a little close to hyperventilation, calmed considerably again. He looked up and gave Giles a very ragged smile. "I seem to be handling this rather badly. I do apologise. I don't know how to prove to you that what I'm saying is the truth, you see. If you can't feel it inside you –and of course, you can't, as you're not an instinctual thinker at all, are you, dearest of dear things?– then I don't know what I can do. Doesn't your magic call out for me?" He lifted his hand, and Giles could sense that it was alive with Ethan's magic.

"I try not to use magic anymore," Giles said, but found himself raising his hand to meet Ethan's. "What you're saying... it sounds so far-fetched, and well, insane. But you said Devon, and there's no way you could know about them unless..." He couldn't actually be considering this, could he? "I don't remember what you think I should." Some impulse made him add, "I'm sorry."

Ethan grabbed Giles' hand, holding it tight, and began to push his own magic into Giles in a very alarming way. "Remember this? Listen to your body, Rupert. It hasn't forgotten, not like your bloody stupid brain."

Giles tried to pull away, but Ethan was holding onto his hand too tightly. Ethan's magic seemed to seek out every bit of that aching emptiness inside of Giles, filling it up in a way that felt... right. Familiar.

Pressing closer, Ethan spoke intensely, almost feverishly. "I know you can feel it, feel me. I bloody know it. You're mine, Rupert, and I'm yours. We're bonded. How can you deny it? It's you and me against the world, Ripper. Order and Nature, sword and shield, fox and ba– Oh, God, I'm a bloody idiot." Suddenly Ethan had let go and seemed to be attempting to strip in Giles' office. Well, he was unbuttoning his shirt, at least.

"What are you doing?" Giles asked, alarmed at this disrobing.

"I have to show you. Once you see it, once you feel it, you'll understand." While Giles' mind fretted over what 'it' was, Ethan pulled off his shirt and gripped the top of his arm, pressing fingers into it as if feeling for something. He looked at Giles and smiled, not looking, it had to be said, entirely sane. His eyes were too... intent. "Here," he said, walking far too close again. "Feel. Then you'll understand."

Giles didn't move. "Feel what?"

"My arm, here. Where you branded me."

"I never–"

"Yes, you did." Ethan reached for Giles' hand and tried to gently tug it to his arm. "Try to remember. You were inside me. My hands were held above my head by your magic, and oh yes, you were using that damned magic cock-ring on me, as well. Before we came, you burnt it into me, using both our magics. So I'd remember I was yours and that..." He laughed, or maybe it was a sob. "That you wouldn't leave me again."

That same sense of desperation that had made him listen to Ethan in the first place now made Giles let Ethan pull his hand, placing it against his arm. There was, just as Ethan had said, a magical sigil. It was in the shape of... of a badger, and it radiated, impossibly, his own magic back at him.

Giles stared at Ethan. It was real.

***

Ethan could see the moment when Rupert started to believe, could read it in his eyes and posture, but Ethan hadn't won this battle yet. He resisted, although it was very hard, the impulse to throw himself into Rupert's arms seeking the comfort for which he was half-dying.

"Rupert?" he asked gently. "You have to come back with me."

But Giles was already shaking his head. "I can't go anywhere. Buffy–"

"Isn't real. She, all of this, was real once, yes. But now it's just an illusion created from your memories. Rupert, I'm telling the truth."

What more could Ethan do to convince Rupert? The fucking bastards, putting him in a competition with Buffy. He'd never break through; Rupert would be stuck here until his body died of thirst, if the Chaos bunnies didn't get him first. Ethan's self-twisting was falling apart again as the panic rose up once more and threatened to consume him.

Oh! Oh yes. "Harriet. Harriet Giles. When you were a boy, she helped train you in magic, including a game of Tiamat and Marduk. And you had a pony called Prince. And a secret space in the attic where you hid, and there was an old nursery you secreted yourself in to smoke dope when you were older. And..." Ethan drew a much needed breath. This hopefully was the clincher. "Out in the woods is an old Gameskeeper cottage in which you last hid yourself after Randall's death. You never took anyone there, never told anyone about it, until you gave half of it to me as a valentine's gift this year."

Rupert stared at him, and Ethan could see in his eyes that he was really wavering. "I–"

From the room beyond a sudden crashing interrupted them. "Giles!" Buffy's voice called through the office door. "We've got company!"

Bugger it. Ethan grabbed Rupert by the shoulders. "Listen to me. The enemy knows I'm here. He's trying to give you distractions to take you away from me again. That isn't really Buffy, just your memory of her. You're not really in Sunnydale. Sunnydale doesn't exist anymore."

Rupert looked torn. "I'm her Watcher. I can't just leave, I–"

Ethan laughed, sort of. "Actually Rupert, you're the head of the Council of Watchers, and while you and Buffy are still close, she's not our responsibility. Her sister, on the other hand, very much is."

That only seemed to bewilder Rupert further, but before he could say anything, the door opened, and a rather strapping brunette girl stood there. She glanced between them both, taking a second to look Ethan –still half-naked– up and down. "Really, Giles? Gotta admire your spirit and all, but now's not the time for getting yourself a touch of the happy and, uh, gay."

To his credit, Rupert didn't pull away from Ethan, although he didn't tell the girl to bugger off either as Ethan would have preferred. "I'll be right there, Faith," he said, then turned back to Ethan. "I have to help. We can talk after, I promise, and... well, we'll talk."

Rupert started towards the door then. Ethan felt himself fall to his knees, despair swelling up inside him. "Rupert, please. For once in your repressed, order-bound life, think with your heart and not your head." Rupert hesitated, and slightly encouraged, Ethan continued. "Please. For me, for Dawn, for the whole bloody world. You have to come back to reality. Oh God, you promised me you wouldn't leave again..."

Ethan felt his twists give way under the burgeoning flood, felt himself breaking down entirely, and turned away, curling up on the floor. He just couldn't watch Rupert walk out of the door. There was silence for a long moment, and Ethan was sure Rupert had left, that he'd lost him, perhaps for good. But then someone was kneeling beside him, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Rupert.

Groaning deeply, Ethan couldn't stop himself moving, throwing himself more or less onto Rupert, clinging to him. "Come back. Please come back. I need you. I need you."

From the doorway, Buffy's voice asked, "Uh... what's going on?"

The other girl laughed. "I didn't know your Watcher liked something hard to hold onto, B. It's a real thigh dampener watching them. Little too daytime soap for my tastes though. How's the apocalypse coming along out there?"

"Go on, both of you," Rupert said in what Ethan thought of as his Watcher voice. "There's something I have to do here." There was a snort of laughter from the dark haired girl.

"Faith, go and help Angel." Buffy's bossy voice, Ethan recognised it. There was a pause, and then Buffy spoke in a very different tone. "Giles, I need you. I don't know what's going on here, but... you're my Watcher!"

"Sod off," Ethan muttered thickly. "Not real. Just memory and malicious Chaos. Leave him alone."

"I am your Watcher," Rupert said sharply. "And for once in your life, don't argue with me and just do as I say! Go help the others; I'll be there as soon as I can."

He distinctly heard Buffy sniff, but then she was gone. Ethan pressed closer still to Rupert, nuzzling his face into Rupert's neck. "Have to come back now. Have to. Ian's waiting. The feather, it's like our rope, our lifeline. It will pull us back. You have to come."

Ethan felt Rupert's hesitation, but the words when he spoke were worth the wait. "All right, but if this doesn't work, you're going out there with me to fight, and afterward we're going to have a long talk."

A sob of relief escaped Ethan before he could stop it, but then he pulled back and lifted his hand holding the feather. "Oh." His vision was somewhat watery currently, but he could clearly see it – his ring was back. "Look!" he showed his hand to Rupert, grinning rather desperately.

Rupert looked down then held up his own left hand; sure enough, the ring's mate was also back. "I..." He frowned in confusion. "I have this phrase in my mind: 'love, magic, destiny'. That means something, doesn't it?"

"Take the ring off and look inside it, dearheart." Ethan patted Rupert's leg encouragingly. He was still dangerously close to despair and breakdown, but hope was dawning bold and bright inside him.

Rupert did so, smiling as he read the inscription. "That does seem to be something I should remember..."

"The ring is real, and so am I. Everything else here is not." Ethan waited for Rupert to replace the ring and then wrapped his arms back around him. "Hold on tightly with everything you have because we're leaving here now."

Rupert willingly did so, showing even more trust by closing his eyes as he did. And just as he had in his own illusion, Ethan concentrated on Ian and dragged them both out.


	8. Chapter 8

Giles opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a very non-descript ceiling. That was all he had time to register before Ethan landed on him and seemed to be doing his best to burrow under Giles' clothes. "Rupert, Rupert, Rupert..."

Automatically, Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan while he waited for memory to catch up with events.

"They took you from me. They took you from me and made me believe you were a lie."

And that was when Giles remembered – the illusion trap, and Ethan lost in the hell he'd taken him from the year before; Giles' failed attempt at rescuing Ethan and suddenly finding himself back in Sunnydale, forgetting everything that had happened in the intervening years... Forgetting Ethan and the horror that he was going through.

Giles tightened his embrace, taking comfort from Ethan's presence. "I'm sorry," he said. "I tried to get to you, but–"

"But you did," Ethan muttered, kissing every available part of Giles fervently. "Well, you didn't, but you saved me all the same. They hurt me, dearheart, and worse than that, they made me believe you were only a dream, and that the real Rupert Giles... didn't care. I was ready to die. Eager, really. But then I found the badger on my arm. Their illusion couldn't take that away."

There was a cough, and Ian spoke from close by. "He got himself out, Rupert. You should be proud of him."

"He did more than that – he got me out as well." Giles smiled at Ethan. Pride was an understatement.

"Didn't think I was going to," Ethan admitted, blinking rapidly before looking down and burying his face back in the crook of Giles' neck. "God, you chose me over Buffy."

"That comes as a surprise to you?" Giles asked softly. It didn't to him, not when Ethan so obviously needed him, not when he needed Ethan just as badly.

"Under those circumstances, you in Sunnydale and how we were with each other back then, yes. Rupert, I... I'm not in a very good... I... I don't feel all that strong, right now. I..." Ethan seemed to give up on speech as Giles then heard in his mind. ' _Make me feel you? I'm half-broken here_.'

Giles kissed him and poured his magic into Ethan as fully as he could, feeling an urgent need to heal the damage that had been done. ' _I'm here, love; I've got you._ '

Ethan sobbed against his mouth, hungrily drinking all the magic Giles gave him and only slowly sending some of his own back. His thoughts were largely incoherent; Giles made out the occasional 'oh God,' or 'Rupert' with words such as 'need', 'lost' and 'mine'.

' _I'm yours,_ ' Giles sent with the magic. ' _Just as you're mine. Just like in our rings: love, magic, destiny. Forever. I'm afraid you can't get rid of me now, love._ '

"Not com- complaining," Ethan managed aloud, before diving back into the kiss. ' _Sometimes I hate that our bodies are separate,_ ' he sent. ' _That however linked we are, we remain individual and apart, vulnerable to tricks like those._ '

' _Tricks can't work,_ ' Giles reassured. ' _We'll always win through to each other. Like we did this time._ '

' _I don't think that I can go through that again. Rupert, they... It wasn't the pain; it was believing that you didn't care. And then in your illusion, I thought you were going to hit me, and I thought I'd never be able to..._ ' Ethan pulled back suddenly. "The brand, you burnt it right into my pattern, you know, so wherever my consciousness is, the brand is there too." He gave Giles a watery smile. "My clever husband."

"I thought with my heart instead of my head," Giles said, returning the smile. "For once."

"Clever, clever man." Ethan stroked Giles' face; he was looking a little better, Giles thought. The shadows were fading from within his eyes. Ethan twisted around a bit, but then froze, looking at the pedestal. They seemed quite far away from it now, and Giles could only assume that Ian had very sensibly moved them. "We should get on from here," Ethan said wearily. "I could do with some sleep though. Water too, if there's the ink. Hell, if there's the ink, whisky and lots of it!"

"That's my boy," Ian chuckled.

"I think we could all use a drink," Giles agreed. "I don't care if it uses up the last drop of ink we have."

***

Ethan shook his head. "The whisky's all I need, truly." Well, the whisky and lots of pampering, but he seemed to be getting the latter without asking, and he intended to wallow in it shamelessly for as long as it lasted.

"I'd feel better if you ate something as well," Rupert told him, looking at him with earnest eyes.

"He's right," Ian put in. "Both of you should eat. You used a great deal of energy breaking free of those illusions. You need to keep your strength up, especially in here."

Ethan grimaced. "I'm not hungry, and I'm fed up with eating floorboards anyway. You should eat though, Rupert. You're feeding me so much magic, and we really can't afford for you to run dry."

"I will if you will," Rupert said promptly.

Groaning, Ethan looked unhappily at the little feast he'd drawn them earlier. "It's not food I'm starving for," he muttered, but he picked up a round item revealed by pattern sense to be an apple.

Rupert picked up an item as well then shifted around so that he was sitting behind Ethan, giving Ethan something to lean back against and smoothing the flow of magic Ethan was still being fed. "What are you hungry for?"

"You," Ethan answered promptly. "My friends, my dog, my life –you know, what passes for normality for us– our bed, things that are exactly what they look like, a nice storm..." He chuckled quietly. "A pub in the west country called the Fox and Badger."

"A pub?" Ian asked, looking interested. "That's something new."

"It's our distant utopia," Ethan told him with a smile, settling more comfortably back against Rupert. "Our 'maybe someday'."

"Not as exciting as we would have imagined while we were young," Rupert observed wryly as he snuck an arm around Ethan's waist in a loose embrace.

"Oh, I don't know," Ethan said, grinning and turning his as yet unbitten apple in his hand. "Dodging the homophobic natives, spending all your money online ordering all those essential luxuries they won't sell in the village, and of course, the constant shagging – seems exciting enough to me. Not to mention the real ale on tap."

"Remind me to hide the credit cards when we finally manage to get our pub."

"Now why would I do a stupid thing like that?" Ethan rubbed his hand along Rupert's thigh. "Most self-defeating, that would be." He winked at Ian.

Ian chuckled into his whisky then asked, "Do I have to point out that eating actually involves putting food in your mouth?"

Ethan resisted throwing his apple at Ian, but only just. Instead, he gave his mentor his best cheeky grin and said, "If you're so keen on things being put in my mouth, why don't you come over here and do just that?"

"Because then you'd never eat." Ian paused for a beat. "Food."

"Come here anyway?" Ethan asked. "I don't like you sitting so apart."

Ian obligingly moved until he was sitting beside Rupert. "All you had to do was ask, young fox."

Ethan let the apple fall to the floor and reached over to squeeze Ian's leg. "If you want me to eat, feed me something unhealthy, m'lord crow."

"You're the one who picked the apple," Rupert pointed out.

"Because I knew it wouldn't be wasted through having been handled." Ethan closed his eyes and leant his head back against Rupert. "I'm tired." He wasn't sure he'd dare sleep however.

Rupert turned his head enough to nuzzle Ethan's forehead. "That would be the adrenaline crash."

That took Ethan's thoughts back to all that he'd been so stubbornly avoiding. "They nearly got us this time. We have to find the –centre? Way out?– whatever it is we're looking for in here before there's a next time for them to get it right."

"I think that is going to be the worst they can throw at us, psychologically speaking," Ian said. "It was horrible, but don't take away from what you did. You overcame it, and I daresay, have come out of it even stronger and more together."

More together, that was amusing. "You did see the display of teenage girldom from me earlier, didn't you? Which is, of course, an insult to teenage girls who seem, in my experience, to be a uniformly resolute and heroic bunch."

"Do you doubt now that Rupert would choose you no matter what the other choice?" Ian asked bluntly.

Ethan almost went automatically into denial, but then he paused and really thought about what had happened today. Rupert had, with no good reason to believe Ethan, let alone trust him, chosen Ethan over his Slayer and his duty both.

He felt a lump forming in his throat again and bent his head, keeping his eyes closed and rubbing Rupert's hand where it rested over Ethan's belly. "He'd choose me," he managed.

' _Love, magic, destiny, forever,_ ' Rupert sent. Since the illusion trap, the mental link seemed to have reverted to just the two of them again. ' _Who wouldn't choose that over everything else?_ ''

' _Forever_ ,' Ethan echoed. He'd added that word to the original three during the unexpected sex magic in Rupert's office, after Rupert had inadvertently stretched their bond to the point of pain for them both. ' _Ripper, will you hold me close while I sleep? I'm a trifle worried about nightmares, but you'll keep them away._ '

Rupert dropped a kiss on Ethan's cheek. ' _I wasn't planning on letting you go anytime soon regardless._ '

Ethan twisted in Rupert's arms, moving his legs over one of Rupert's and into Ian's lap. He buried his face in his favourite place in the crook of Rupert's neck and slipped a hand under his shirt to touch skin. "Goodnight, my two lovers," he said sleepily. ' _My life, heart and soul_ ,' he added mentally for Rupert alone.

' _Just as you are mine,_ ' Rupert responded with fierce possessiveness.

That possessiveness made Ethan a little giddy, made him smile against Rupert's skin, and holding onto it like a comforter, he let himself slowly relax into soft warm darkness.

***

"And what about you, Rupert?" Ian asked quietly, his voice barely louder than Ethan's gentle snoring just below Giles' ear.

"What about me?" Giles asked, matching the same low volume; Ethan was boneless with sleep and heavy in his arms, and Giles didn't want to wake him.

"These events today, they can't have been easy for you either."

"They weren't," he admitted, staring down at Ethan and relishing his presence, his touch.

"You recognised him, even when your memories were amputated and your intellect blinded. You recognised him for what, for who, he was to you."

"I did. I think..." Giles trailed off, remembering his feelings in the illusion: the confusion, the suspicion that Ethan had just been playing another of his tricks, and underneath it all, a tiny trickle of hope. Not about what Ethan had been saying about them being in an illusion, but that Ethan was reaching out to him. "It wouldn't have mattered when it was. I think I'd spent all of my life waiting to find what I'd lost as a young man."

Ian chuckled wryly. "Yes, that I can recognise."

"I'm sorry." Yes, Ian would certainly understand.

"No need." Ian patted Giles' hand where it rested on Ethan. "So that was Buffy then?"

Giles smiled fondly. "Yes, that was Buffy. She always has had a gift for making an impression."

"I can see her sister in her smile."

"There is definitely a Summers type; their mother had that same spirit as well."

Ian nodded thoughtfully then said, "I've been thinking, Rupert."

"About what?" Giles asked.

"The enemy, his motivations here."

"Oh?" Curiosity piqued, Giles would have leant forward if Ethan hadn't been in his arms.

"Well, he hasn't been making strenuous efforts to kill us, has he? I'm not sure he actually wants you and Ethan dead, at least, not yet. The traps and small fights we've had so far seem designed to weaken and slow us down, and in the case of the illusions, destroy confidence in ourselves and in each other. You outwitted him there quite nicely, of course."

"Indeed." Giles looked down at his lover. "Ethan and I have travelled a long way in the last year. I think the trap just made both of us realise exactly how far we've come."

Ian smiled. "I'm proud of you both. I have no doubts at all about your fitness for this job."

"I don't think it is a job," Giles said thoughtfully. "It's what we are, what we're meant to be. As long as we're being true to ourselves, to who we are at the core, it's very hard for us to misstep." He smiled wryly. "It's when we think too much that we get into trouble."

Ian chuckled softly. "That's very honest of you, Rupert, but still, like everything else between us pairs, balance is necessary. Thoughtlessness would be just as dangerous."

"I don't think that's much of a worry with me."

"No, I don't suppose it is." Ian's hands were now moving slowly over Ethan's legs where they lay in his lap. "Well, put your mind to this then, if the enemy doesn't want you two dead, why not?"

"It needs something from us," Giles said after a moment's thought.

Ian nodded. "Looks that way, doesn't it? He wants you weak, mistrusting each other, but alive and able to provide... something."

Giles nodded, surprised he hadn't seen it himself until nudged by Ian. "The question then becomes what?"

"What indeed."

***

Ethan groaned, clutching his stomach and trying to keep quiet while Rupert yet slept beside him. Maybe it was the stress of yesterday, but certainly, he was in trouble today. The area of his body in which he was storing Dawn's pattern was swollen and angry and causing his whole abdomen to complain vociferously.

He'd checked it last night, of course, and it had been fine. Ian had kept the area healthy while Ethan had been unconscious, and all had been hunky dory. Only now it wasn't.

Wordlessly, Ian approached from where he'd been on watch in the doorway. He crouched and put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. Ethan could feel his pattern being manipulated and gradually, his guts settled somewhat. "Better?" Ian asked.

"Approaching it." Ethan let himself sag against Ian. "Delayed reaction, I suppose." It was obvious he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. It was too debilitating at a time when he needed all his resources, but if he let Dawn go now, it would crush Rupert. It would rather crush him too, if he were being honest with himself. Ugh, he should never have even tried.

"You expended a lot of energy yesterday, physical and emotional both," Ian pointed out. "It was bound to weaken you." He smiled. "Luckily, you've got talented friends and lovers to see you over the rough patches."

Ethan felt out with his senses to ensure Rupert was still asleep; he was, which was a blessing at least. "Yes, lucky and stupid; that's me." He pulled himself to his feet and wandered over to where they'd left the food. "Looks like my appetite for floorboard is back."

"Good. You didn't eat at all last night."

Ethan didn't answer; he didn't have a whole lot to say, but after he'd had a drink of tepid water and made himself a rough sandwich, he looked up and said, "Thank you," to Ian. "Couldn't have done this without you, as they say."

"Oh, I have confidence you would have muddled through somehow." Ian nodded at Rupert. "For him, if not for yourself."

Rupert was stirring. Ethan stuck his sandwich in his mouth and crawled back over to be with him. He sat down beside Rupert, chewing slowly and feeding him magic with his free hand. "Hello, dearheart."

Rupert blinked sleepily up at him. "'lo," he replied, yawning.

Suddenly, Ethan felt overwhelmingly tired. He just wanted to lie back down with Rupert, get cuddled, and have a nice long lay in, but there was nowhere to lay in upon; Rupert hadn't summoned them a bed last night, and anyway, time, essence and all that. He bent and kissed Rupert chastely. "Stiff, dear?"

"A little." Rupert wrapped an arm around Ethan and kissed him back. "Unfortunately not in any good way."

"No," Ethan said sadly. "I think that even I can't claim to want sex this morning. May I see if the pen will provide us with liquid stimulant? I think we need it."

Sitting up, Rupert pulled out the pen and handed it over. "Sleep well?" he asked as he did so. "No nightmares?"

"None I remember." He kissed Rupert on the cheek again and set to drawing the largest pot of hot coffee he could manage.

"Good." Rupert watched Ethan work for a moment; then he moved to wrap his arms around Ethan's waist, pressing up against his back.

It felt so good. Again, all Ethan wanted to do was to lay back and close his eyes in the security of Rupert's arms. He whimpered slightly before asking, "Make the coffee real?" Rupert kissed Ethan's cheek before reaching out and pouring his magic into Ethan's rough drawing.

Soon, the smell of fresh brewed coffee was filling the room.

"Have you got yesterday's mugs still?" Ethan asked Ian, not wanting to waste ink on making more.

Ian rummaged and handed over the odd-looking floorboard mugs. "Waste not, want not."

Ethan had hoped Ian would pour the coffee so he could linger in Rupert's arms longer. Ah well, the pampering of last night couldn't last forever. He poured them each a mug. "We should get this down us and get on the way, I suppose."

"That and a bit of breakfast," Rupert said, letting Ethan go long enough for the pouring of the coffee to happen and then resuming his embrace.

About half an hour later, they'd refreshed themselves as much was possible under the circumstances. Ethan was increasingly grateful for Rupert's cleansing spell, since there was no other way to maintain personal hygiene.

It had actually been a nice breakfast. Rupert was being exceptionally touchy feely this morning, and Ethan really couldn't get enough of it, but now they were walking again. The feelings of being trapped in the maze were stronger again today, probably due to the week-in-an-hour he'd spent back in the Initiative prison cell. Without self-twisting, he'd be in a bit of a state currently.

Ethan needed a distraction. "So, old crow, what's the wickedest thing you've ever done?"

Ian chuckled. "Trying to get me to tell naughty stories incriminating myself?"

"Yup, 'fess up. I'll look upon them as cautionary tales."

"The impressive thing is that you say that with a straight face," Rupert observed with dry humour.

As Ethan opened his mouth to refute the accusation that his face was ever straight, they turned a corner... and paused in surprise. Gone was the endless rectangular box corridor; suddenly they were facing a vast cavernous hall. "And me without my favourite ball gown."

"At least we'll be able to see anything coming," Rupert offered, staring into the distance.

"It's getting quite hard to take this seriously, you know. Perhaps the chaos bunnies could play some volleyball here and amuse us. Or maybe put on a play." Ethan tried to reach out with his senses, but the room was too long, too vast. There could be anything hidden in here.

"King Lear and his three daughters, Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail?" Ian quipped. "Now that would be quite disturbing."

The idea made Ethan chuckle in spite of his concerns. "Well, they'd have a paying customer in me. I suggest walking around one of the walls."

Rupert nodded. "It's a wise idea to keep in contact with some form of architecture so we don't get any more lost than we already are."

Ethan stared straight ahead, not moving. "We're going to be shadows of our former selves with all this sodding exercise. If I'd wanted to take up endurance walking, I'd have joined a club."

"You did," Rupert told him dryly, starting to move. "It's called the Watchers Council." Ethan grit his teeth and didn't answer that remark with the biting wit it deserved.

They trekked over to the left wall and then began to follow it. Each step seemed to require a small but increasing effort of will, and Ethan was beginning to wonder if his reluctance was more than just physical and emotional fatigue, although God knows, he had enough of them both to explain it.

Rupert seemed to notice that something was amiss and dropped back to walk beside him, reaching for his hand. ' _What's wrong?_ '

' _I'm not sure,_ ' Ethan offered him a weak smile. ' _I suppose you could say my hackles are rising. I'd rather like to turn back the way we came, only knowing the way this place works, the way we came will no longer be there._ '

' _That wouldn't surprise me. Still, we should probably take your hackles seriously and be on our utmost guard._ '

He was so very tired, but it wouldn't do any good to tell Rupert that. ' _I'll do my best._ ' Rupert squeezed his hand and fed him a bit of his magic, seeming content to continue walking beside him.

After a while, Ethan asked aloud, "Is it just me, or is the ambient light growing dimmer?"

"It's not just you," Ian replied, a frown in his voice.

Straining, Ethan tried to sense what lay ahead, but he felt nothing but a vague sense of sameness. His guts chose that minute to cramp, and he absentmindedly put a hand below his ribs and fed the cache walls magic. "I really don't like this." And, ouch, Dawn didn't seem to like it much either.

"Do you need a break?" Rupert asked, eyeing him worriedly.

"Yes, maybe he should sit down," said a sympathetic male voice, a voice not any of theirs. "He looks all but exhausted, the poor boy." From the shadows ahead of them, a small old man appeared. He had short-cropped grey hair and dark eyes, and he was wearing a dapper little suit and a kind smile.

Ian stepped forward, placing himself between the man and Ethan. "You can just keep your hands and your thoughts off both of them," he ordered in a frightening tone of voice that Ethan had never heard from Ian before, filled with an anger that was as cold and dangerous as a blizzard.

Bugger, this had to be that demon, Doc. No one else could make Ian react like this, surely. The old man, demon, smiled benevolently at Ian. "Why, it's good to see you again too. Although you really shouldn't be here, you know. You weren't invited, but don't worry, I've had a word with Them on your behalf." The demon blinked in a way that seemed particularly reptilian, and suddenly, Ethan remembered the dream he and Rupert had shared just before Doc's attempt to kidnap Dawn.

"You're the snake."

"In the biblical sense, he certainly is," Ian answered, not looking away from Doc as he spoke.

"Oh dear." Doc's kindly old man face assumed an expression of concern. "Don't tell me you're still holding your boyfriend's death against me. He paid his money and made his choice, regrettable though it turned out. Or do you know? I think my memory may be playing a trick on me. Wasn't it you who paid for that particular dose?"

Ethan winced for his friend and mentor and started to move forward without thinking, full of anger of his own. Rupert held him back, calmly responding to Doc with, "I don't recall Dawn paying any money or making any choices when you cut her. Ian's description seems apt to me."

"Ah." Doc nodded sadly. "Such a sweet thing she was, but if I'm the snake for parting her soft flesh, what are you" –he looked directed at Ethan– "for what you've done to her now?"

Ethan wrapped his arms around his waist protectively. ' _Why's he not attacking?_ ' he sent to Rupert. ' _Is he trying to distract us from something else?_ ' The knowing smile Doc then aimed at Ethan suggested strongly that he could somehow hear their mental speech.

"There is a distinct difference there," Rupert answered Doc, his tone turning icy, "but I doubt you're capable of seeing it. Regardless, you will find us more difficult to deal with than a bound and helpless teenage girl."

A strange-looking tongue flickered out from Doc's mouth, licking around his lips. "Oh believe me, your abilities are well, shall we say, documented? They've been watching you very carefully, I'm afraid, boys. Listening too. Careless whispers in the dark are so unfortunate." He smiled gently at Ian. "It is encouraging to see you've finally found someone, someones, to love again, after all this time. Such a shame you've had so little time to enjoy it."

"Everything comes in its time," Ian replied almost casually then gave Doc a truly vicious smile. "As you are about to find out."

One moment, Doc was looking at Ian, his head tipped sympathetically to one side, the next moment, impossibly fast, he was behind Ethan, his arms wrapped around and a knife pointed at Ethan's belly, directly above the pattern cache. "But you see, I don't need much time. Just enough."

"Let him go," Rupert all but growled; Ethan could feel him gathering his magic for what was sure to be a truly impressive attack.

In the meantime, Ethan himself was reaching out, probing every part of Doc's alien body, trying to find a place of weakness to twist. "Are you really so powerful that you believe you can take all three of us?" he asked, wanting to keep the demon talking and not, if at all possible, stabbing.

"Maybe," Doc said amiably by his ear. "Who knows? Shall we find out? It really doesn't matter much, but it could be an interesting... diversion."

Rupert's eyes narrowed at that, but before he could say anything, Ian was stepping forward, moving until he was just out of arm's reach of Ethan and Doc. "Come now, we both know that's not what you really want. You don't want to waste time with these children. What you want is me."

"Wrong," Doc announced, but then added, "Well, right, but not quite yet." He pushed the tip of the knife hard enough into Ethan for it to hurt; his shirt was precious little protection.

"Why not yet?" Ethan asked through gritted teeth, fearing the answer.

"Why, because this place, this maze, this window of opportunity for you, will soon be closed. All I need to do is keep you here another few minutes, and then any danger you represent to Them will be over."

Bugger it. Bugger bugger bugger. "Who's 'them'?"

"Them, him... pronouns are flexible little nuisances, aren't they? Vaurtain is too big, you see, too... cosmic" –Doc chuckled slightly– "to be singular."

Ian snorted. "More like too pompous, and I'm afraid I can't wait for you to finish with your games before we get down to business." His gaze dropped to the knife Doc held, and a second later, Ethan sensed the handle turn white hot.

Of course, Ethan was a bloody idiot. He should have looked at the pattern of the knife, not the impenetrable demon. As Doc dropped the knife with a muffled curse, Ethan swung back with his elbow into Doc's midriff and then rolled free. Scrabbling backwards, he began to hurriedly strengthen the pattern-interweaving between himself and Rupert.

Doc opened his mouth, but instead of more serpentine words, an iguana-like tongue shot out, crossing the distance to Ian almost instantaneously and smacking him hard across the face, causing him to reel back. "I said, not yet!"

" _Incendium!"_ Rupert intoned, making a throwing motion at the same time. At the apex of the movement, a ball of fire left his hand, thrown straight at Doc.

But Doc was gone before the ball could hit him, and the fire shot harmlessly by to hit the wall. Ready this time, Ethan reacted fast, pulling magic from Rupert to create a shield of order around himself. There was a hiss of frustration from Doc who was suddenly behind him.

He felt someone play with the pattern of the magic and recognised Ian's touch. Glancing over, Ethan saw his mentor had recovered and was staring intently at Doc. A second later, he felt a massive shift in the pattern of the very air around Doc, solidifying it into a facsimile of the shield Ethan had built around himself with Rupert's magic.

Doc hissed and whirled about. "I've got him," Ian said, his voice tense. "You two go on."

"No way, crow," Ethan said indignantly, pulling himself to his feet and trying to boost the magic in the cage Ian had created. Doc lashed about within it, clearly furious. Ethan reached out for Rupert's hand. "We're not leaving you here."

Within the cage, Doc stopped moving and smiled. "Then you're playing into his hands," Ian snapped back. "His purpose is to keep you here and wear you down. If you stay, he wins. And I'll be damned if I let him win anything ever again."

Ethan felt sick; he knew what this was, what was happening here and what was about to happen... "I'm not leaving you," he said stubbornly, pulling on more of Rupert's magic to bolster the cage, and still Doc smiled.

Ian didn't respond, just looked intently at Rupert before passing him something – the Matrix, glowing softly green with the Key's energy. Rupert slipped it into his pocket.

The next thing Ethan knew, Rupert had grabbed him by the arm and was pulling him away. "No!" Ethan struggled to free his arm. "No, Rupert!"

"He's right," Rupert stated implacably, still pulling Ethan away no matter what Ethan wanted. "If we don't want all of this to be for naught, we have to go."

There was a noise like many windows simultaneously smashing, and Ethan whirled around to see Doc, free of the cage, his prehensile tongue vanishing back into his mouth. He leapt upon Ian.

"No!" Ethan reached out, sending magic to Ian, but he didn't seem to need it as suddenly Doc was flying backwards through the air. How the hell had Ian done that? That wasn't pattern magic. "Rupert, let me go. I won't desert him."

"Will you desert me then? Because I'm going on like Ian asked us to."

Ethan stared at him in horror, still being dragged despite his best efforts to resist. "No. Rupert, stop it. Why... You can't! He's going to die!"

"I know." Rupert's answer was terse and devoid of all emotion.

None of this made sense... only it did. It made a horrid, brick-in-his-guts kind of sense. They had to leave Ian, they had to run, as otherwise their 'window of opportunity' would be gone. "No..." he said weakly yet again, but he wasn't really fighting Rupert anymore, just walking backwards, watching Ian wield magic in a way that should have been frightening, but it just seemed unreal. Ian looked like he was winning, but Ethan could feel destiny around them as a suffocating pressure.

Caught up in the fight, Ian found a second to look up and lock gazes with Ethan; even at this distance, Ethan could see that Ian's face was set with determination and... love.

Feeling like he was every foul name he'd ever been called, Ethan turned away and let Rupert pull him into a sprint.


	9. Chapter 9

The silence that hung over them as they fled from the fight made Giles feel as if he were suffocating. He couldn't speak, didn't have any words he could say that would make the situation better, or even just more bearable. Guilt at not only abandoning Ian, but at making Ethan abandon him also choked off anything Giles could try to articulate. He didn't have the strength to fight through it; all his strength had been taken in simply doing what he had to do, no matter how despicable it was.

At least Ethan wasn't fighting him now as they ran through the seemingly endless chamber. The sounds of combat had faded behind them; their own footfalls and heavy breathing now seemed to fill their space. Ethan was still holding Giles' hand too, although that may have had more to do with the fierce grip that Giles was maintaining almost involuntarily.

Dear God, was that a wall ahead? Were they finally to the other side? Not that that necessarily meant anything good at all.

Ethan squeezed Giles' hand suddenly. ' _How much time do you think we have?'_  he sent, presumably not wanting to spare the breath to talk aloud.

' _I don't know,_ ' Giles replied the same way. ' _Not much, I think._ '

It was a wall, and unless his eyes were fooling him, there was a door too. As they got closer, the door became clearer and with unspoken accord, they adjusted their course and headed directly to it. ' _Step into my parlour..._ ' Ethan sent when they got there, even his mental tone sounding breathless and weary.

' _I think we've been in the parlour since we entered this thrice-damned maze,_ ' Giles sent back, reaching for the doorknob and finding with no surprise at all that it was unlocked. ' _About time we got to the centre of this web._ ' He didn't mention the horrible cost they were paying to do so.

But there was only another bloody corridor beyond, endlessly long and straight, with no doors that they could see. Ethan made a whimpering noise, but Giles couldn't afford to let them rest, not now. They'd stopped running only long enough to get through the door, and now they were off again, jogging more than sprinting, but as fast as they were able. Neither looked back.

About three minutes after entering the corridor, Ethan suddenly gasped and fell to his knees.

"Ethan?" Giles knelt beside him, frantically running his hands over him looking for any damage. Ethan was shuddering under his touch; his mouth was open, and he was making little gasping noises as if he couldn't breathe. "What is it? What's wrong?" Giles felt frantic and helpless, as he watched Ethan in the throes of whatever attack he was going through.

Eyes filled with horror met his, and Ethan managed a single word, "Ian..."

Damn. Giles' grief and guilt surged up as potential became fact. They would have done so for Ian's fate alone, but even more so with what this was doing to Ethan.

Ethan bit the knuckle of his thumb hard, hard enough for a small drip of blood to run down his chin. But as Giles moved to pull Ethan's hand away from his mouth, Ethan was already staggering to his feet. "Demon's dead too," he said with a dull tone. His eyes seemed equally expressionless. "Better hurry, eh?"

Ethan was right. They needed to keep going, but Ian's sacrifice and Ethan's pain –and Giles' own for that matter– deserved a moment's acknowledgement at least. "I'm sorry," Giles said softly.

"Don't be. Not yet." Ethan gave him the tiniest of smiles, although his voice remained flat. "Or I'll fall apart, which would be somewhat inconvenient currently. I need my hard-as-nails Ripper."

Giles nodded, pushing his feelings away for now. Get the job finished. Do what had to be done, no matter the cost. "Let's go."

If anything, Ethan ran faster now as if trying to escape something terrible. There was, Giles' eyes just made out, a door ahead. Another corridor or a final destination? He slowed them down when they got near to it, not wanting them to run headlong into more trouble. ' _Carefully,_ ' he sent, pulling out his pen and murmuring the word to turn it into the blade.

Ethan... was not looking quite himself. There was something fixed and almost dangerous about his eyes. Giles could feel Ethan's magic working between them, binding them together more tightly than ever, granting him that extra-sensory perception he'd come to expect from the bond. ' _This is it,_ ' Ethan sent. ' _Feel out beyond the door, feel the Chaos. We'll have to act as one._ '

Giles could feel it, a writhing mass of wrongness that made his bad leg ache, his stomach churn, and his senses try to reel. He took tighter hold of his dagger, channelling his magic into it to bring it to the length of a sword. As he did that, Ethan was drawing on Giles' magic, creating a shield of Order around them.

Giles looked at Ethan, drinking in the sight of his lover in this moment. ' _Ready, love?_ '

Ethan's smile was feral. ' _For Ian, for Dawn, and for us, yes?_ '

' _Yes,_ ' Giles replied, feeling his mouth stretch in a similarly feral expression. He leant in and quickly stole one fast, hard kiss, then opened the door.

It was another big chamber, but that was all really that Giles noticed about it as in the centre there was a wrongness so vast that his mind could not grasp it. There was a... a hole, like a huge tear in the reality of the maze, and within this hole writhed something monstrous. It was a giant, ever-changing morass of Chaos in which red eyes and white claws appeared and disappeared apparently at random.

"Vaurtain," Ethan whispered.

Giles stared at it in horrified fascination; this was the entity who directly or indirectly been the cause of so much pain and loss in his life and who knew how many others. It was, he realised, as dangerous as a Hellmouth.

Only Hellmouths didn't, as a general rule, speak. **"...took your time..."** the words, spoken in a voice that sounded like dead leaves and scuttling insects, seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Giles had to suppress a shiver at the sound; it felt foully wrong as it fell on his ears. It took a large effort of will to respond in anything close to a normal tone when he said, "We would have been here sooner if we hadn't kept running into... delays."

The voice surged and receded like gusts in a storm. **"...hope you haven't... the entertainment... too strenuous."**

"I must congratulate you on your stage presence," Ethan said from beside Giles. "Your voice projection on the other hand requires some work."

 **"...lost son..."** said the voice of Vaurtain, and if possible, he sounded almost fond. **"...back to the fold..."** A smiling mouth of fangs briefly appeared in the crackling, swirling Chaos.

' _Why doesn't he attack?_ ' Ethan asked Giles mentally.

Giles was wondering the same thing, but a moment watching Vaurtain offered a clue. ' _I don't think he can. Watch the way he moves; it's ever changing but for one thing, his position in that... hole._ '

' _He's stuck?_ ' Ethan chuckled in a way that boded ill for Vaurtain. ' _I believe you are right.'_

 **"...aware that I... a joke..."** swelled the voice. **"...joyed at your return to..."**

"I never worshiped you, bear," Ethan told it harshly, walking to one side, but staying out of reach of even the longest projections of Chaos. "I was never yours."

"Indeed," Giles added, watching their enemy and doing his best to provoke a reaction so they could gauge the exact limits of its reach. "Ethan's mine. He's was never yours because he's always belonged to me, from the moment he was born."

That won him a quick intense glance from Ethan, who was circling further around Vaurtain. "Having a spot of trouble, are we?" he asked the Chaos beast, smiling in that sly way he had once used habitually. "Maybe you need to go on a diet. You know, Rupert, doesn't this remind you of a story? Now what was it? Ah yes. You need to cut down on the honey, bear of very little brain."

The Chaos beast writhed, tendrils thrashing about, but even stretched to their limit, they couldn't touch Ethan, and he laughed. Giles had kept his eyes on the place where Vaurtain seemed mired in the hole in reality. The edges of the hole had pulsed and shaken in response to Vaurtain's anger as if the rip was trying to do something, but failing.

' _The hole there,_ ' he sent to Ethan. _'I don't think Vaurtain is the only thing stuck._ '

' _What do you mean?_ ' Ethan asked, studying their foe.

 **"...means the hole.... unfortunately stuck open... you, Watcher?..."** So Vaurtain could hear their thoughts, just as Doc had intimated. **"...you know what... behind me?"**

Only one answer made sense. "Chaos," Giles replied.

 **"...juicy and... pouring it in... eating your green and pleasant... our Jerusalem..."** There was a terrifyingly loud noise like a rockslide in a hurricane. Vaurtain was... laughing.

It was hard to think while the cacophony continued, but after it stilled, Ethan said in a strong voice, "So greedy. No wonder you can't move. Foolish bear. Interesting keyhole to the side of you. Can't think what might fit it."

Giles manoeuvred closer to where Ethan was standing until the keyhole, the existence of which Ethan had so thoughtfully announced, became visible to him. He slipped his hand into his pocket and closed it around the key-shaped Matrix, which seemed to be vibrating with the same nervous energy that ran through Giles himself.

It was obvious what they had to do now, although Giles did not delude himself into thinking it would be easy.

 **"... really think I... welcome to try... rather bored here, to tell..."** Vaurtain seemed to be drawing himself in, taking up a smaller space. **"...free the prisoner, I suppose..."**

Free the prisoner in the Void – it was part of the prophecy, and Giles suddenly thought he understood it. Vaurtain was trapped, holding the portal to Chaos open with his essence and constantly recharging his own power from the boundless source behind him. To close that portal, to stop the influx of Chaos that was infecting reality like a cancer, they were going to have to remove the obstruction.

They were going to have to free Vaurtain.

Ethan was staring at the shrinking Chaos Beast suspiciously. "What are you up to, bear?" Giles could feel Ethan manipulating the shield protecting Giles, strengthening it considerably.

**"...polite... a little bowing and scraping be too much to ask?"**

"Yes, actually," Giles replied, shifting position so he was closer to the disembodied keyhole. Closer also to the pulsing wrongness obviously, but that couldn't be helped. "It is too much to ask." He glanced at Ethan, hoping he'd be able to pick up on what Giles was planning without words.

The appalling noise that was Vaurtain's laughter blustered around the chamber again. **"...hurry up... too late to free... shame to miss out on your reward... enjoy eating... meat left on her old bones..."**

"Exactly what's going to happen, Pooh," Ethan asked, "when this limited time is up?"

Giles continued to drift in the direction of the keyhole as casually as he could manage. Ethan, he was pleased to notice, had begun to drift around the other side of the reality rip as he conversed with Vaurtain, hopefully keeping the Chaos beast's attention focused away from Giles as much as possible.

 **"...booby prize..."** Vaurtain said, a chattering mouth appearing briefly in the swirling Chaos. **"...way, I win..."**

"Do you?" Ethan asked, apparently able to work out what Vaurtain meant; maybe he could hear more of the words than Giles was able to. "Will you get a nice medal?" He had circled around to be quite the other side of Vaurtain now.

Ethan had always been quite good at distractions, and right now, he seemed to be keeping Vaurtain engaged enough for Giles to be able to sidle up right beside the keyhole without attracting obvious notice. The black tendrils and eyes were all directed towards Ethan currently, although the proximity of living Chaos made Giles hurt terribly even through the thick barrier around him.

Giles pulled the Key out of his pocket, and with a brief prayer that things would work out, fitted it to the keyhole. It slid in smoothly, with an almost inaudible click. There was a twitch from the Chaos morass, perhaps also one from the tear itself, but Vaurtain's attention remained apparently on Ethan, which was unexpected. From the clues Vaurtain had let drop, the Chaos beast knew what it was that the Guardians were prophesied to do here at the centre of the maze. Giles was beginning to suspect that Vaurtain knew full well where Giles was currently and was deliberately holding back. He wanted to be free.

Ethan suddenly tugged on Giles' power, creating some effect with it that caused Vaurtain to laugh again. **"...greatest disciples... use Order against me... child playing with building bricks... tumbling..."**

"Well," Ethan replied in his 'reasonable' voice. "I could hardly use Chaos, could I?"

Giles had to give this a chance to be easy; he tried to turn the key in the way that he somehow instinctively knew would close the portal, but of course it wouldn't budge. So freeing the prisoner it was to be then.

The only way they were going to win this was if they hit Vaurtain with everything they had as soon as Giles turned the Key, and then didn't let up until he was beaten down and contained if not destroyed. Preparing himself, he sent a wordless thought to Ethan, a sense of alertness and readiness, waiting for Ethan to glance his way and grasp what it was they had to do.

In response, he felt a sensation much like being strapped into a moving carriage of some kind as Ethan tied them together at a level that even Giles could sense was deeper than ever before, deeper than he'd ever thought possible. They were one being divided by space.

"Want some more honey, pooh bear?" Ethan asked Vaurtain. "All you have to do is come and get it."

Giles took that as his cue; taking a deep breath and one last long glance at Ethan, he turned the Key, opening the portal just that much further and freeing Vaurtain.

A huge mouth of ice white fangs appeared grinning in front of Giles and then the stuff of Vaurtain was surging forward, outward, filling the chamber and threatening to submerge Giles. His shields buckled and cracked, and his body filled with an appalling, disabling pain. He fell to his knees.

Then Ethan was there, behind Giles, rebuilding the shields and expelling the Chaos that had touched him. Giles felt himself fill with Ethan's wild magic, with his pattern senses, and he pulled himself up tall and ready to fight.

Feeling more comfortable with at least the semblance of a mundane weapon, Giles gripped his pen-cum-sword and sent his magic throbbing through the enchanted metal. So armed, he struck out again and again, swinging the bright blade through the swirling mass of darkness that surrounded them on all sides.

The gold-glowing blade cut though the Chaos, causing tendrils to peel back and mouths to appear and wail in protest, but there was so much of Vaurtain. Afflicted areas were withdrawn and replaced immediately, the Chaos beast immediately replenishing himself through the open doorway to the Chaos source.

Giles and Ethan were tiny within the towering mass of life-stealing Chaos, which was above them and to all sides.

Ethan was a warm and comforting presence against Giles' back, maintaining their shield, keeping it strong and bright, but there was only so much energy they could pour into the shield, and at the moment, Vaurtain had an endless supply of Chaos to draw from. If they were going to survive and defeat their enemy, they needed to cut that off. They needed to shut the portal.

But Vaurtain had driven Giles back from the Key. It was only a few feet away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. With the ferocity of attack they were dealing with, they would be lucky to make it more than two steps.

They could, Giles felt confident, defeat Vaurtain if they could just close the rip. After all, hadn't their victory been foreseen? Not that, he knew, this was any guarantee. He sliced through the Chaos blanketing them until the screams from fanged mouths made his ears run with something he rather hoped wasn't blood. Ethan seemed to be pushing their shield forward, millimetre by millimetre, towards the keyhole, but Vaurtain responded. A rush of heavily condensed Chaos surged into them, knocking them back several feet further away from the Key. Giles cursed with desperation, and that was when the very strange thing happened.

Through the thinner patches and breaks in Vaurtain's substance, Giles watched a cloaked and hooded figure emerge from the thick darkness of the rip in reality and walk into the room.

Giles wasn't able to give the figure his full attention while he was busy keeping up his attack on Vaurtain, but he saw enough to discern that the figure was heading for the keyhole. Having no way to discern if the figure was on their side or Vaurtain's –or a third as yet undiscovered side– Giles didn't know whether this was a good or bad development.

One thing seemed obvious, Vaurtain didn't know he or she was there.

Ethan suddenly did something that caused Giles' sword to flare like a brand. ' _Cut him to ribbons, dearheart._ ' Vaurtain howled like the spirit of death around them. Giles redoubled his attack, spinning and slashing at the Chaos Beast, Ethan staying at his back no matter how Giles moved.

At that moment, Giles felt something happen. It was as if a loud noise he'd been hearing so long he'd forgotten it was there had suddenly stopped, or like a room that had grown dark as the day grew long without him realising it had suddenly been illuminated. The stranger had closed the tear.

There was a crackling explosion of laughter from many throats and then Vaurtain was gone, dissipating from around them like evaporating black mist. Why or where he was going was unclear. Ethan slumped heavily against Giles' back and then grabbed him as floor beneath them shuddered. Giles turned around to grab onto Ethan in return, trying his best to steady both of them in the suddenly unstable room. "Earthquakes are never a good sign," he muttered, knowing that Ethan would pick up the words from his mind even if he couldn't hear them.

"The maze... it's... bugger." Ethan clung to Giles as the floor gave way beneath them, and they were falling, surrounded by a cloud of dissolving white dust. Giles braced himself for the worst...

***

Ethan staggered as suddenly their feet were touching ground again. Without letting go of Rupert, he looked around in confusion. They were surrounded by people and barking dogs. The people were grabbing him and asking urgently if he was all right.

And the answer was no, he wasn't. He'd had to spend so much energy in the fight against Vaurtain that his cache protections had failed. The pain was considerable as his body's defences moved in to try and oust the alien matter from his flesh. The time had run out; he had to remake Dawn now or let her die, but where the bloody hell was the Bachian matrix holding the Key?

He felt out for its pattern, but Rupert didn't have it. It wasn't on the ground near them. Ethan was just starting to get frantic when a hooded figure pushed through the crowd and placed the crystal key in his hand. The figure might have said something, but Ethan was quickly moving beyond the point where he could understand words, his focus sinking more and more into his body and the vital trace of Dawn that his natural defences were trying to obliterate.

Faces blurred around him. Even Rupert's essential presence moved further out and away as Ethan pulled energy from the Bachian matrix and began to twist it with his mind. "Stay back..." he thought he managed to say. Perhaps he shouted it. He fell to his knees and using the blueprint he'd stored within himself, began to weave the energy back into the shape of Dawn, using the dead organic matter in the room as a base.

It was the most complex pattern that Ethan had ever attempted, but it wasn't the complexity that worried him, it was the amount of energy he'd need to complete it. He wasn't even half done and already he could feel his sorely put upon reserves faltering.

Trying to do this directly after the fight was insane, but he'd no choice. He could see her now, hazily naked on the floor in front of him, wavering in and out of existence, in and out of her pattern. His magic was running out, and he didn't think he'd have enough even if he started to add his own life force to the mix. "Rupert..." he tried to say. Rupert's magic would be useless for remaking Dawn, but it could keep Ethan alive enough to do this.

But there was no answer, and Ethan strongly suspected the word had never left his mouth.

Then, suddenly, there was an influx of power, and with it a very familiar presence, one that Ethan hadn't thought he'd feel again. It was impossible, wasn't it? But possible or not, Ethan grasped the power he was being given, a power he knew so well. "Crow..." he muttered, forcing solid reality on the shape before him.

 _'Didn't think I'd leave without seeing you through this, did you, young fox?'_ Ian's voice seemed to come from somewhere inside Ethan's skull, just as the extra power seemed to come from somewhere inside his own soul.

Ethan didn't know if he was hallucinating in his extremity, but he didn't care. He made Dawn's body real and solid and then worked on transferring her memories back before they corrupted. "We can do this. Can do this, Lord Crow..."

 _'Of course we can,'_ Ian replied with utter confidence. ' _It's part of what you were born to do, my boy. Why you have such a penchant for shapechanging spells. It's all brought you to this moment, this act._ '

She was back, whole and breathing, she looked perfect, but she wasn't Dawn yet, wasn't truly alive. Ethan roared as the faceless crowd moved in again, shoving them back with magic he couldn't spare.

Quickly, he grasped everything that was left in the Bachian matrix. "One last push then." Using every bit of power he had been given and pulling hard on his own life force, Ethan forced the stuff of the Key back into the girl's body.

The last thing he was aware of was Ian's presence wrapped around him and then slowly fading away; Ethan wasn't at all sure that he wasn't fading away with it.

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing throughout this massive project.


End file.
